The Night the Phoenix Flew the Coop
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: Sequel to TNOT Florentine Phoenix. Having delivered the Phoenix safely to the Smithsonian Institution, Our Heroes are next assigned to escort Pres Grant to a private showing of the exquisite treasure — only to discover that some time during the night, the real bird has disappeared. Guess whose job it is to get it back?
1. Teaser

_Author's note: The events of this story take place some time before TNOT Big Blackmail, which explains why Baron ((_ _Hedley Lamarr))_ _Hinterstoisser is present at the embassy instead of, um… well, wherever he wound up after Our Heroes were done making such a complete and well-deserved fool of him._

 _Also, I probably should have mentioned this in one of my previous stories that feature Herr Vogel (those being TNOT Unexpected Visit, The Days of Courtship, and TNOT Florentine Phoenix), but I based Vogel the Rumormeister squarely on the character of Baron Von Stuppe from the movie_ The Great Race _— and probably most of you know that the evil Baron in that marvelous movie was played by none other than the actor who embodied our own beloved Artemus Gordon: Ross Martin._

 _And so, on with the show!_

 **Teaser**

"Well, good morning, gentlemen! I trust you had a safe trip back from San Francisco?"

"Good morning, Mr President," said James West. "Safe enough, yes."

"And uneventful, I'm glad to say," added his partner Artemus Gordon, casting a sidelong glance at Jim.

"Good, good," Pres Grant beamed. "And you delivered the little, ah, package you picked up out west to the Smithsonian?"

"As soon as we arrived here in Washington last night, yes sir," Jim affirmed.

"Excellent! I'm looking forward to this private viewing the curator has graciously consented to. It isn't often one gets to admire an object of such antiquity, you know."

"Yes sir."

"Not to mention," Grant added as he settled his top hat on his head, "something that was purportedly designed and built by Leonardo da Vinci himself!" He paused and eyed his agents. "Is there any way to prove da Vinci made it?"

"Prof Montague believes it to be genuine," said Artie as he and Jim accompanied the president out to his carriage.

"Montague? Montague…" Grant frowned. "Sorry, I don't place the name."

"He's one of our instructors at the Secret Service Academy out in Denver, sir," Jim prompted.

"Yes, and he met us in San Francisco, sir," Artie added, taking the seat next to the president in the carriage. "He both authenticated the Florentine Phoenix as being the work of da Vinci, and made a replica of it in a bit under twenty-four hours."

"Oh, just twenty-four hours? My, that's impressive! I… Wait — replica!" With a massive frown, the president snatched the cigar from his mouth and pointed it at Mr Gordon. "Hang it all, men, why did we want a replica?"

"Oh, well, sir, it's, ah…" With a sheepish grin, Artie rubbed at the back of his neck. "It's rather a long story…"

Jim, now mounted on his prancing black stallion alongside the carriage, gave a small smile as he added, "But Mr Gordon will be happy to fill you in on all the details during our trip across town to the Smithsonian. Won't you, Artie?"

Artie shot his partner a ferocious glare, then sighed and began to spin the yarn of just how many people, both foreign and domestic, had attempted to make off with the Florentine Phoenix before West and Gordon could even get the golden bird out of San Francisco.

…

"Amazing!" said Grant as his carriage drew up before the building that was beginning to be nicknamed the Nation's Attic. "So what became of those greedy miscreants? You arrested them all, I trust?"

"All but Ecstasy La Joie, sir. She managed to escape, despite the fact that I hid a knock-out gas bomb inside the valise which she believed held the Phoenix."

"Nor," said Jim, holding the carriage door for the president to disembark, "were we able to arrest the German agent."

"Mm. The man with the multiple names. Mr Bird, you call him?"

"Well, _Herr_ Vogel, sir. Yes, he had diplomatic immunity."

"Pity. You know, gentlemen, sometimes I think — thank you, Mr Gordon," Grant nodded as Artie held the door of the museum for him. "Sometimes," the president went on, his two Secret Service agents flanking him as they walked through the halls of the Smithsonian, "I think diplomatic immunity is more trouble than it's worth. Think of all the espionage foreign nationals get away with under its aegis!"

"But then think of the protection it provides to our own ambassadors and their staff, keeping them from being arrested on trumped-up charges by regimes that hate us, sir," Artie pointed out.

"True, true," Grant had to agree. "Ah, Dr Ames!" he added. "There you are!"

A mousy bespectacled man, graying at the temples, came rushing down the hall towards them. "Mr President! You're early." Realizing how reproachful that sounded, Ames sputtered, "I, I mean… well, that is… My… my apologies, sir, that I wasn't at the door to greet you upon your arrival. Mr West, Mr Gordon," he added, nodding to each agent in turn, "it's good to see you again. Now, the Phoenix is this way, Mr President." He gestured back up the hall in the direction from which he had come. A sudden smile lit his face. "Oh, and Mr President, I can't begin to describe what a treat is in store for you!"

"By all means, then, Ames, let's have a look!" The president followed the curator to a doorway with an impressive set of iron bars blocking their path. Ames quickly unlocked the bars and ushered his special guest inside. "Here we are, sir. Just allow me to…" He stepped over to a cloth-draped pedestal and after a moment's search, he found and flipped a switch. "There! That's the security system deactivated. Now we may safely…" With a flourish Ames snatched the cloth off the pedestal, exposing to view a glass case, an object roughly the size of an ostrich's egg ensconced within it.

With West and Gordon on guard for anything untoward that might happen around him, Pres Grant leaned forward and peered through the glass. There on a cloth of deep blue velvet lay a beautiful golden egg with swirls and eddies of tiny rubies chasing all over its surface in playful patterns.

His voice breathless with rapture, Ames murmured, "Isn't it exquisite, sir?"

"It certainly is," replied Grant. Straightening up, he gestured with his cigar and said, "Well, let's have it out of there and see what it does, Dr Ames!"

"Ah…" For a moment the curator just stood there, jaw sagging towards his breast as he blinked at the president. Then he snapped his mouth shut again. "Oh. Oh, yes sir. Of course sir. You'll want to see it, ah…" Ames produced another key, touched a small panel on the pedestal which slid aside to expose the keyhole, and unlocked the glass case. "Yes sir, I'll bring her out in, in just a second, and we can…" His voice trailed off as he lifted off the case. He laid it gently on the floor by the foot of the pedestal. "There! Now, if you'll indulge me as I don the, er…" He pulled a pair of white linen gloves from his pocket and slipped them on.

Artie leaned toward Jim and muttered, "Doesn't finish his sentences much, does he?"

From alongside the golden egg Ames took up a key, also golden, its bow studded with rubies and garnets. Then with a touch that was almost reverent he turned the bejeweled egg over, revealing that centered within its flat base was a keyhole. Ames inserted the key into the slot and cranked the key around once, twice, thrice. He removed the key and gently placed the egg flat side down on its velvety stand upon the pedestal, then stepped back.

Jim and Artie, having seen this many times in the past week or so — most recently the night before when they had turned the art treasure over to the curator — watched the exhibit only peripherally, their attention on guarding the president from any threats that might pop up unexpectedly.

Pres Grant, on the other hand, leaned forward again, his eyes fixed on the Florentine Phoenix. A light sound of gears turning, almost musical in its delicacy, met his ears. For a long moment nothing happened, then abruptly the egg cracked open, its golden shell splitting six ways into scallop-edged segments like the petals of a flower, each one slowly falling outwards to expose an elegant little bird within, its body greenish-white and inlaid with amethysts.

"White gold?" asked the president, glancing up.

Ames shook his head. "No sir. It's electrum. Oh, but isn't the Phoenix simply marvelous?" the man gushed.

Grant made a _hmm_ of agreement, his attention riveted on the treasure before him. As he watched and the unseen gears continued to mesh softly, a ring of tongues of flame sprang up all around the bird, little rippled blades of red gold, looking like so many tiny flaming swords surrounding the bird. The flames grew taller and taller, becoming broader at their bases, curving up and over the bird until at last the flames joined up together into a solid shell again that hid the bird completely from view.

He waited. The six petals of the outer orb were still splayed out upon the velvet. Curiously, the clicking of the gears had ceased. Grant glanced at the curator at his side. "Is that it?" he asked.

Ames frowned. "Why… why, no. No, it isn't. The inner shell is supposed to, to split open anew, revealing a different bird, tinier, and made all of silver encrusted with sapphires. Then it… gentlemen?"

For West and Gordon had stepped forward on either side of the president. "The tinier bird," Artie said, peering narrowly at the closed Phoenix, "is supposed to lift its head and wings just as the first bird did, then bow its head and fold its wings around itself as if going to sleep. After that the outer petals slowly rise up to enclose the reborn phoenix within the smooth rounded egg again. So why isn't…?" Artie reached out to prod the inner shell with a finger.

Abruptly, as the sound of gears cranking began again, the six slivers of the outer orb flew up and snapped themselves shut.

"Yikes!" exclaimed Artemus, just barely snatching his hand away in time. "Great jumping balls of St Elmo's fire, it's not supposed to do _that!"_

"It's not supposed to be playing music either," Jim put in.

No, the Florentine Phoenix that the two agents had accompanied all the way across the continent certainly was not a music box. But the egg before them, its gears clicking merrily along, was cranking out a bouncy and familiar tune.

Pres Grant glowered. "Well, gentlemen," he growled, "Leonardo da Vinci is credited with many wonderful and amazing inventions, but I do _not_ believe that amongst them was a time machine, do you?" He pointed his cigar at the golden egg. "Because either he was able to teach that thing to play a piece of music that wouldn't be written until a few centuries after his time, or that, Mr West, Mr Gordon, is _not_ the Florentine Phoenix!"

Sure enough, as they all watched with sinking hearts, the egg cracked open again. The backmost petal split away from the rest in order to emit a tiny flag with sapphire blue in the top corner and horizontal stripes of ruby-red alternating with pearly-white making up the rest of it. The little flag waved back and forth jauntily in time with the music:

 _O Columbia! the gem of the ocean,  
The home of the brave and the free,  
The shrine of each patriot's devotion,  
A world offers homage to thee…_

Jim and Artie turned a glance towards each other. No, this wasn't the Florentine Phoenix. This was Prof Montague's clever replica — and they both knew precisely in whose hands the _ersatz_ Phoenix had last been seen.


	2. Act One, Part One

**Act One, Part One**

"You're telling me that you helped to _make_ that thing, Mr Gordon?" stormed the president.

"Well… well, yes sir. I mentioned that to you during our trip over here to the Smithso…"

Grant whirled on West now. "And the last time you saw the fake Phoenix, it was being carted off by that, that Mr Bird fellow?"

" _Herr_ Vogel, yes sir. He had the fake, and we had the real one, and…"

Grant cut Jim off with an upraised hand. "And when the two of them passed the Phoenix on to you last night, Dr Ames, it was the real thing at that time also?"

"Y-yes sir," said the unhappy curator, wringing his hands. "We, we wound it up last night and it… well, it did exactly as Mr G-gordon described: the smaller bird, the folded wings, going to slee.."

"Yes, yes," Grant cut him off as well. "Then I think we can accurately state, gentlemen, that sometime between last night when you delivered the authentic Florentine Phoenix to the Smithsonian here, and a few minutes ago when we all saw the bogus one pull its little antics, _someone_ broke into this room, took the real one, and left us _that_ in its place!" The president paused to puff angrily on his cigar, then impatiently waved the smoke away. "And I think we can also accurately state who our prime suspect might be."

West and Gordon both nodded. "Yes sir: _Herr_ Vogel," said Artie.

"A member of the German diplomatic corps," Jim added, "on staff at the German embassy."

"Yes, and with full diplomatic immunity!" Artie finished.

Grant scowled and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "Oh, perfect. Absolutely perfect. I can arrest Vogel and have the German ambassador breathing down my neck, or else I can admit to the Bosnian ambassador that we've managed to lose one of his country's national treasures!"

"We'll recover the Phoenix, sir," said James West.

"We will?" muttered Artie at his elbow.

Jim spared him a moment's glance. "Recover the Phoenix, _and_ do so without causing an international incident. The ambassador from Bosnia will never know the Phoenix was taken." He glanced at Artie again, then knit his brows for a second, reminding his partner to stop gaping and look confident.

"Oh. Yeah. Right. Missing Phoenix returned, no international incident," Artie parroted.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you men say that, though how you plan to _do_ it is a mystery to me!" said Grant. He pointed his cigar at them. "But if you should manage to pull that off, I'll give each of you a presidential citation — along with the official title of Federal Miracle Workers!" He took up his top hat and jammed it onto his head, nodded a brusque good day to the still-dithering Ames, and strode from the room, his agents a half step behind him.

"Ah… so how do you plan we do this, O official Federal Miracle Worker?" Artie muttered at Jim as they followed the president back out to his carriage.

Jim gave a small smile. "How's your German, Artie?"

"As good as my French, Italian, Spanish, Polish, Russian, and all the rest. Why?"

Jim's smile broadened into a grin. "Have you ever noticed how very much you look like a certain acquaintance of ours? Someone who's very fond of…" He broke off to hold the outer door for the president, then leaned in close to Artie to whisper the final word:

"Birds?"

…

A slim figure dressed entirely in body-hugging black peeked out from the covert of a few bushes, then charged across a street and vaulted a wrought-iron fence to dart into a recessed doorway around the back of one of the imposing marble edifices here in the heart of the capital city. The fugitive froze for a few seconds there in the shadows of the alcove to lean wearily against the door, heart racing, lungs heaving, trembling from head to toe.

Hours! Those crazy Germans had been on her trail for hours! Would they never give up? Twice she had lost them, only to hear a yell of excitement and find them hot on her heels again. But had she shaken them off now? She peeked out, daring to let herself hope.

All was quiet… Maybe this time…

She slid down to rest on her haunches, not daring to sit, for she might well need to flee again at any moment. She laid the bag she'd been carrying all this time on the ground by her side — being careful, however, not to let go of it entirely. She smiled at the thought of what was inside, but then frowned again at the remembrance of how close she had come to being stripped of it. Blasted Germans!

And yet right up until the time _they_ had shown up the night before, it had all been going so swimmingly. She had slipped in through a tiny window in an out-of-the-way corner of the castle-like building, choosing a window that was far too undersized to permit entry to anyone but a small child — or, she smirked, a small thief. And the window's lock! It had been laughably easy to pick, no doubt precisely because no one expected anyone to attempt a break-in through it. After that came a short jaunt through the hallways of the fairly new museum, folding her trim little self into a cabinet at one point to dodge the night watchman.

And so on to the room with the iron bars fitted across the door. Here again her petite stature worked in her favor, for she needed merely to reach through the bars to pick the lock on the door, and once that was open, she squeezed in between the bars.

Next came the pedestal itself. It had taken her only a trice to find the switch that turned off the alarm, a few seconds more to find the hidden keyhole and defeat that lock as well. She then opened the case…

And the Phoenix was hers. It was as simple as that.

It was only at the end of her sojourn within the museum that the trouble started. She had paused just inside the window, the Phoenix safely ensconced in the black bag in her hand, listening before she would venture outside again. And she was sure — even now she was sure! — that she had heard no one out there waiting for her. But waiting they had certainly been. Her first clue, coming not a second after she had slithered her way out the window, had been the _skritch_ of a match against the exterior wall. The match flared up, illuminating the hands and then the face of a man as he casually lit a cigarette. He smiled at her, catching her eye, then extinguished the match with a flick of his wrist.

" _Guten Abend, mein liebes Fräulein,"_ his voice purred in the renewed darkness. _"_ _Fräulein_ _…_ La Joie _,_ _nicht wahr?"_

He knew her! And yet… that face, the one she had glimpsed so briefly: the curly hair, the satyric goatee, the darkly amused eyes, the scar making an angle across his left cheek. Yes, she knew that face, and the voice as well!

" _Herr_ … Koch!" she exclaimed. "Merle. Merle Koch. You were there last week in San Francisco. You worked for Gaspar Kutman when… Oh!" She glanced about swiftly. Kutman had followed her here? Or had he and Koch simply followed the trail of the Florentine Phoenix as she had? Back in San Francisco Kutman had hired her to steal the golden bird for him; no doubt he was greatly upset with her for deciding to auction it off instead — during the brief interval when she'd had it in her possession, that was. Now it was in her possession again, and Kutman had sent…

But the man before her was chuckling as he lifted his cigarette, his hand holding it in the reversed European fashion, to take a puff. He blew out the smoke, throwing an acrid cloud into the young thief's face. " _Ach, sehr gut, Fräulein_ La Joie! From so brief a glance you recognize me. I am impressed."

So was she! She gaped a moment, then blurted, "When did you learn English? Last week you spoke nothing but German!"

Again he chuckled. "Ah, but last week, my dear, I was not myself. I was then merely Kutman's thug, and it was to my advantage to speak nothing but German. Now, however, here on my own, ah… stomping grounds, as you Americans call it, I believe, and no longer keeping up the pretext of being in the employee of the ailing _Herr_ Kutman…" A thought struck him and he confided, "But did you realize, my dear, that the _Herr_ Kutman whom I accompanied to your impromptu auction house was not the genuine Kutman but an impostor? _Ja_ , under the white suit and the _ersatz_ rolls of fat, that was none other than Artemus Gordon! You did not know this?"

The thief shook her head, stunned. Yes, and not a little angry as well. What a fool she had been! James West had been there; why had she not expected the presence of his partner as well? But then that explained how the suave Kutman had managed to liberate the Phoenix from the valise she'd been certain contained it, as well as secreting in its place that inconvenient knock-out bomb. It was only the fact that the telltale smoke had alerted her that something was amiss so that she had flung the bag from her — only that had prevented her from succumbing to the stupefying gas.

"The things you learn," she said at last, speaking calmly even though she was seething on the inside. Enemies forever!

"So true, so true," Koch — or whatever his name was — agreed. "For an example, _I_ had heard a rumor that this fine young institution," and he waved his cigarette-hand at the building the thief had just emerged from, "would be the object of a burglary this very evening. And so…"

"Rumor?" she interrupted. She had kept her plans strictly to herself; how could he have heard any rumors?

"Well," he chuckled again, "then let us say that a little bird told me. Or to be more precise, that a little bird _saw_ you, my dear. I have been watching and waiting for all of our companions from San Francisco to arrive. You, _Herr_ Kutman, the Countess Zorana, even little _Herr_ Memphis. And of course, _Herren_ West and Gordon, with the Phoenix itself." Again he puffed on his cigarette and blew the smoke out into the thief's face. "The Phoenix arrived yesterday, and your train not long afterwards. It was not hard to deduce that you would make your move quickly. Our other three colleagues… You know what has become of them?"

She gave a sniff. "Of course I do! They were all three arrested for plotting to snatch the little treasure, and each one of them brought here to Washington to be handed over to the various embassies that plan to ship them across the Atlantic to stand trial." She tipped her head at him; her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness and she could make out his features now; his lips were curved into an infernal smirk. "But not you," she added. "Somehow you escaped arrest. Was it because you fought at James West's side against my minions? Did that earn you the Secret Service agents' trust?"

His smirk broadened into a grin. "Perhaps. But if they did trust me, they were foolish to do so. As I already implied, I did not truly work for _Herr_ Kutman; he only thought I did. My true employer…"

And at this point the cold steel of a revolver pressed itself to the side of the thief's skull just behind her ear at the same time as an arm seized her about the waist. With an angry cry the thief struggled to free herself — but only until she heard the _ka-click_ of the gun's hammer being engaged. Then she froze.

"Very wise, my dear," said Koch.

Now a half-dozen more men, all of them armed, appeared out of the darkness and surrounded the immobilized thief. One of them took the black bag from her hand and passed it on to the leader. " _Hier ist es, Herr Vogel_ ," he said.

" _Scht!"_ the leader hissed. " _Sprechen Sie nicht mein Name!"_ He tossed down his cigarette to snatch the bag from his henchman, then reached inside. From within he pulled out a thickly padded pouch. With a fleeting glance at the girl, Koch — or was his name Vogel? — murmured something in German to his men; the next moment one of them struck a match. Now Vogel upended the pouch, smiling at the play of the flame's reflection over the ruby-studded golden egg that dropped out into his waiting hand.

"Excellent! Excellent," he sighed happily. "Now." Vogel returned the egg to the pouch, then the pouch to the black bag. "I have something for you, my dear, in exchange."

"Ex… exchange! What on earth are you talking about?"

Vogel clicked his fingers and one of the other minions stepped forward and thrust a different black bag into the girl's hands. At the same time, the gun muzzle vanished from behind her ear, although the arm around her waist remained as secure as ever. For that matter, she didn't hear the sound of the gun being uncocked yet either.

"This, my dear," Vogel intoned, "is the false Phoenix constructed by _Herr_ Gordon and your friend Prof Montague. Despite my best efforts to acquire the genuine article, they, ah…"

The thief began to laugh. "Oh, they pulled the same hocus-pocus on you that they did on me? Left you holding the wrong bag? I do hope yours didn't have knock-out gas in it, as mine did! Or," she added, nodding her head ever so slightly toward the man behind her still holding her fast, "maybe I _do_ hope yours had knock-out gas."

Vogel smiled grimly. "So charming, my dear. Utterly charming. The upshot of the matter is that my — or should I say, _our_ ," and he indicated his men, "true employer still desires desperately to acquire the Florentine Phoenix, whereas _I_ desire sincerely to, as you Americans so delicately put it, rub the noses of _Herren_ West and Gordon in, ah, well… in _that!"_ He pointed at the bag in the girl's hand. "Therefore this is what you shall do…"


	3. Act One, Part Two

**Act One, Part Two**

Ecstasy still couldn't believe it: Vogel had directed her to go back inside the museum and leave the fake Phoenix in the display case from which she had taken the real one! "And if I don't?" she had asked pointedly.

"Ah, that is simple. The man standing behind you will shoot, and in the morning when the substitution is discovered, the wily thief who accomplished such a stunning crime will be discovered as well. Right here, in a pool of her own blood."

That had clinched it, though not for the reason Vogel had given her. A new plan was hatching within the young woman's mind, one that should restore to her what she had just rightfully stolen. "Very well," she said, and as soon as the gunman had released her, she had taken the fake Phoenix, gone back inside, and left it in the display case as she was told.

But that was the last she would blindly obey Vogel's orders! His instructions had been for her to finish the job and return to him. But why do that? He'd already broached the possibility that he would leave her behind to take the blame, and in no condition to explain what had really happened either. No, instead of returning to the window by which she'd gained entrance, she slipped out of the building by a different point of egress.

But not without first paying a visit to the janitor's closet…

…

Moments later, a cloth tied securely around the lower part of her face, she peeked around the corner of the building to see that all eight Germans were still waiting for her, spread out along the back alley, most of them with their guns ready in their hands. And the one man she was particularly interested in, their leader who was still clutching her black bag firmly in one hand, was meditatively smoking a cigarette.

He glanced at the window and frowned. "Schwimmer." He gestured to one of the men, then said something lengthy in German.

" _Jawohl, mein Herr_ ," the man responded with a click of his heels. He checked his gun, then set off around the far corner of the building.

No doubt to see if the little thief had gone out a different way, thought the little thief in question. Well, that was fine with her: one less adversary to deal with at the moment. She tugged loose a string from Vogel's black bag which she was still carrying and stealthily tied its length to a bush near this corner of the building. And when that was done, she pressed her back against the wall just out of sight of the Germans and gave the string a tug.

 _Rustle_.

Vogel's head snapped around. " _Was ist los?"_ Throwing down his cigarette, he snapped his fingers to his men, directing them toward the corner.

Good, thought the thief. Excellent! Just a little closer, and preferably in a nice tight group… Closer… Closer… Yes! From her covert around the corner from the men she flung a large glass bottle she had recently liberated from the janitor's closet. It tumbled through the air towards the Germans, startling them all.

And then the bottle crashed to the ground and splintered into a thousand pieces, splashing the yellowish liquid from within it in all directions. A moment later all six men who had been approaching the corner burst out into spasms of coughing.

Vogel jumped back, yanking a handkerchief from his pocket and jamming it over his mouth. "Ammonia!" he exclaimed.

And now a second bottle came arching from the corner, spinning right over Vogel's head to smash on the ground just behind him. He whirled to see more yellowish liquid splatter everywhere. More ammonia?

He took a cautious whiff. No… no, that was vinegar. Hmph! Dismissing it from his mind, he wheeled back again to face the unseen enemy that had been launching the bottles.

And found the enemy was no longer unseen. With a cry of "Ha _ha!"_ the little thief yanked the black bag he'd given her down over his head and pulled the drawstring tight. She then snatched back the bag that had originally been hers, hefted it to make sure the Phoenix was still inside, and with a teasing cry of, " _Guten Abend, meine Herren!"_ she sprinted off into the night.

Sputtering with rage, _Herr_ Vogel grappled with that infernal drawstring, then wrenched the bag back off his head. " _Dummköpfe!"_ he snarled at his men. Continuing on in German, he growled, "Idiots! After her! Go after her and recover the Phoenix at once!"

…

Only the one man who had been sent off around the far corner had been in any shape to chase after her at first, thought the thief as she leaned still against the door in the alcove, her breathing and heart rate calming down at last. But he had dogged her heels for a long time, gradually being joined by his companions. Whether _Herr_ Vogel himself had taken up the chase, she didn't know…

Except that suddenly she did know. For a cry of _"_ _You!"_ caused her head to snap up. Here was _Herr_ Vogel now, bounding over the fence and striding across the grassy lawn towards the little thief crouched in the alcove.

"I have you at last," said Vogel. "Give me the Phoenix." He loomed over her, already nearly close enough for him to seize her, as she stared up at him and pressed her back against the door.

But for a lissome thief like Ecstasy La Joie, arm's length was just as good as leg's length. Before _Herr_ Vogel could blink, the girl used her position to brace herself as her right foot snapped up and kicked the German squarely in the chin. Vogel yelped as he suddenly found himself involuntarily sitting on the ground. The thief surged to her feet, gave Vogel a second kick that caught him on the left ear, then raced off again, carrying the precious treasure away with her.

Ecstasy's mind was racing as well as she heard the sounds behind her of _Herr_ Vogel rallying his men to pursue her once more. She had to find somewhere to go, somewhere to hide! Yes, and somewhere to get out of this black cat suit and into clothing that didn't call attention to her by daylight.

She gave it a bit more thought, then knew precisely where she would go.


	4. Act One, Part Three

**Act One, Part Three**

Jim selected a few choice weapons from the hidden compartment in the small lab in the varnish car of the Wanderer, then slid the panel back up out of sight behind the cages above the door. He called a cordial "Have a good day, ladies!" to the pigeons as he left the room and headed up the corridor.

And stopped dead just inside the swinging door into the parlor. He sniffed the air, frowned, and drew the revolver from his hip. Quietly he nudged the door open and slipped through.

Yes, what he had smelled in the corridor was plainly visible here in the parlor: a coil of cigarette smoke making its lazy way up to the ceiling. The source of the smoke, a man with thick dark glossy curls attired in a deep-green uniform, sat upon one of the sofas, his back to the door through which Jim had just entered. Jim could see the cigarette in the man's hand as he lifted it, holding it in the reversed European fashion, and took a long slow drag.

Jim's eyes narrowed, and he drew back the hammer of his revolver.

At the distinct _ka-click_ of the gun being cocked, the smoker instantly sprang to his feet and whirled. For a moment both men stood still, studying each other. Then the corners of the stranger's mouth quirked into a sardonic smile within his well-kempt goatee. He took another puff from his cigarette, blew out the smoke, and intoned, "Zo, _Herr_ Vest, ve meet again! _Guten Tag, mein_ , ah… _Freund_." He inclined his head, at the same time giving a click of his heels.

Jim surveyed the apparition before him another moment or two, taking in the scar across the man's left cheek as well as the fellow's easy, confident air of charismatic menace. Then, uncocking the gun, Jim said, "Not bad, Artie, but I think his accent isn't quite that heavy."

"True, James, true," said his partner, instantly falling out of character. "Although I will tell ya, _Herr_ Vogel laid it on _pretty thick_ that time he was masquerading as little ol' Fritzi Drossel." He crushed out his cigarette in an ashtray, then lifted his arms and did a slow spin. "So, you think I'll be able to fool the embassy staff?"

"Sure — provided none of them get within ten feet of you."

"Well, thank you! I do think this is one of my better… Hey!"

Jim grinned. "Do you think you'll be able to check Baron Hinterstoisser's office as well as Vogel's while you're in there?"

Artie snickered. "Of course I will! Piece of cake — or in this case, streusel. And you? While all eyes are on me, you'll be searching the upstairs for any safe that might hide the little Phoenix?"

Jim nodded. "I have a few devices to cause some distractions with."

"As do I." Artie patted a pocket. "Not to mention the fact that I'll be right there in the building, available to pull your fat out of the fire if need be, as usual." He shot his partner a teasing grin.

"Thank you, Artemus — as long as that doesn't involve any of the Germans having to get within ten feet of you," Jim teased right back.

This earned him an eloquent roll of Artie's eyes. Then, with a sigh, his partner added, "All I hope, Jim, is that they haven't already tucked the Phoenix into a diplomatic pouch and shipped her off to the Fatherland! We'll never find her again if that's the case."

"Then for the sake of our nation's reputation — not to mention, my personal one — we'll need to make sure they don't get the opportunity. Let's go."

…

"Schwimmer, I certainly hope you are here to report to me the capture of our quarry!" Vogel growled. He removed the handkerchief from his ear, glared at the fresh red blood upon the cloth that told him he had not yet managed to staunch the bleeding, and pressed the cloth back into place again.

" _Nein, mein Herr_ ," his man replied. "I am here to report that I have hailed a cab for you. Come, please. You need to see a doctor."

Vogel grunted, but followed Schwimmer and allowed himself to be helped into the carriage. His thoughts were far from the twin pains in ear and chin as their cabbie shook out the reins and the horse started off. The girl… where would she go? Whom would she trust? She had the Phoenix now, yes, but what did she have in mind to do with it? Was another auction party in the offing? His thoughts swirling as he sifted through what he knew of _Fräulein_ Ecstasy La Joie, Vogel the Rumormeister settled into his seat and strove to place mental jigsaw pieces into their proper places.

…

"Dr Ames!" A young man with pince-nez glasses knocked urgently upon the door behind the impressive iron bars. "Dr Ames, the reporters from the newspapers are here. Your ten o'clock appointment, you know." The secretary waited a moment, then knocked again. "Dr Ames?"

Abruptly the door sprang open and Ames stared out wildly at the young man. "They aren't here with you, are they, Madison?" he hissed, darting glances down the corridor behind his bespectacled secretary.

"With me? No sir, of course not. They're awaiting you in the anteroom of your office." Madison regarded the curator in astonishment. "But, Dr Ames, whatever is wrong? You look like you've seen a… well, a ghost!"

"What's _wrong?"_ Ames echoed, his voice rising in pitch even as it dropped in volume. "I'll tell you what's wrong, my good man! Somebody has…" He broke off then, exited the display room and locked its door as well as the sturdy iron bars behind him, then grabbed Madison by the arm and hustled him down the hall and around a corner. Here he stopped and glanced furtively about, seeing nothing but the usual array of antique furniture, suits of armor, _objets d'art_ , and other such bric-a-brac that cluttered the museum halls. Nevertheless, Ames put his mouth very close to Madison's ear in order to whisper the horrendous news to him.

Madison jerked back, stunned. "Stolen! The Phoenix?" he cried.

"Hush!" ordered Dr Ames. "Keep that strictly under your hat, young man! No one must know that… that…" Abruptly the curator broke off, shaking his head, quite unable to speak further.

"But this is terrible, Dr Ames! Who could have done such a thing? And… my word! The reporters! They're waiting for you even now!"

"I mustn't see them! _No_ one must know! Tell them… yes, tell them that I've been taken ill. I'll go home at once. Tell them I have something lingering… deadly… contagious!" Still babbling, he hurried off down the corridor, heading for the back entrance.

But then he spun back. "And Madison…"

"Yes sir?"

Dr Ames pointed an unsteady finger in the approximate direction of the reinforced display room. "Don't let anyone into that room!"

"Oh, but of course, sir! Don't worry a bit, sir. You can count on me!"

Ames nodded. "Good man, Madison! Good day then." He pattered off one way, while Madison dashed back towards the curator's anteroom, muttering under his breath as he rehearsed what he would say to the assembled reporters.

And so neither of them saw a little man in an enormously oversized greatcoat slip out from behind a suit of armor and gaze with great bulgy eyes speculatively after first the curator, then the secretary. "Stolen?" the little man murmured to himself, his voice soft and vaguely foreign. "The Phoenix, stolen? My, I wonder who could have done that. Or rather," and he gave a high pitched giggle, "I wonder who could have _paid_ for it to be done, hmm?" He giggled again. "And I wonder how much the Smithsonian would pay _me_ if I recover it for them!"

Grinning crookedly, the little man in the big coat glided quietly out of the museum and headed off to begin his search.

…

A man in a green uniform hastened to the embassy's front door and tugged it open, then came instantly to attention. " _Mein Herr!"_

Well, this man was within ten feet and bought the disguise. Muttering, " _Guten Tag,"_ at the doorman, the fake Vogel brushed past him and headed in the direction of the real Rumormeister's office.

Feet scurried after him. "But, but, _mein Herr!_ Baron Hinterstoisser has been asking after you," the doorman exclaimed, hurrying past to plant himself firmly in Vogel's path. "He has made it clear that he wishes to see you the moment of your return to the embassy."

"Oh, he has, has he?" So instead of a quiet few minutes to canvass Vogel's office, he was to beard the lion in his den first! "Very well, my man: Announce me." Drawing himself up tall and giving his deep green tunic a tweak to straighten it, Artie followed the young doorman as he led the way towards the baron's ground floor office and whatever might lay beyond its door.


	5. Act One, Part Four

**Act One, Part Four**

" _Himmel!"_ growled Vogel, added a few more choice Teutonic epithets as he jerked back out of the doctor's reach.

"Now now, Mr Kranich," said Dr Feldstrom. "Of course the mercurochrome isn't pleasant, but as we all know, medicine has to sting or it doesn't cure!" Feldstrom dabbed more of the red solution onto the side of his patient's head, then gave a _tsk_ of his tongue. "You're a lucky fellow, I'll tell you that. Falling off a wagon, and getting no more injuries than these two. And they won't even need stitches! But I'd advise you to be more careful around… What was it that caused you to fall again?"

"A wildcat," Vogel snarled. "Schwimmer, pay him and come! We have much work yet to do!" Snatching up his shako, the Rumormeister stalked from the hospital room, nearly barreling into a pretty young nurse as he went.

The girl sidestepped neatly and backed against the wall of the corridor, watching the angry German out of sight. A moment later another man in a dark green uniform hurried after him, followed belatedly by the doctor. He glanced at the nurse, gave a wan smile, and said, "What a pair they were! A swimmer and a crane, and neither one in a gracious mood!"

The nurse was moving on down the hall, then paused. "I'm sorry, but what did you say?"

"A swimmer and a crane." At the continued puzzled look on her face, he added, "Their names: Schwimmer and Kranich. Those are German names, and swimmer and crane are what they mean. Curious, hmm?"

"Crane, you say? Like the bird?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Yes," she said distractedly. "I suppose so."

"The odd characters who show up in a hospital to be patched up, eh?" the doctor went on. His brows knit, and he turned to add, "Come to think of it, I don't recall ever seeing _you_ working here before. What's your name, Nurse? Nurse?" But the girl had disappeared out of his sight.

Feldstrom frowned at the now-empty corridor, made as if to call out, then shrugged and wandered instead down to the doctors' lounge to help himself to a mug of coffee.

…

Jim crept cautiously along the third story corridor of the embassy, picking the lock of each door in turn as he came to it and searching the room within — albeit fruitlessly so far. If the Germans had the Phoenix, where would they hide it?

Behind him a door slammed and heavy feet moved his way. Swiftly Jim pulled the lock pick out from under the lapel of his jacket, made quick work of the nearest door, and slipped out of view, closing the door softly behind him. He waited, listening to the sound of feet coming closer… closer…

And then moving on past the room he'd taken refuge in. Good, thought Jim. And now he turned to survey his surroundings.

Not so good. From a writing table near the opulent four-poster bed against the far wall, a tall man with receding gray hair and compensatingly large sideburns stood slowly to his feet. He glared coldly at Jim and demanded in clipped Germanic accents, "You! You will explain your presence here in my chambers, _ja?_ You are no doubt a spy, _nicht wahr?"_

Jim blinked, then put on a sheepish smile and said with a self-deprecating chuckle in his voice, " _Your_ chambers? I, I'm so sorry. I, uh… thought this room was mine. That's the problem with these larger hotels: it's so easy to get lost, you know."

"Ho… hotel!" The tall man bristled. "This is no hotel, you contemptible moron! This is the German embassy, and I am no less a personage than Baron Hinterstoisser!"

"Moron?" Jim stared at him in shock. "You just called me a moron? I don't care what kind of hotel you're running, buster, but that's no way to treat a paying guest." Jim lifted his chin and gave the hem of his vest an indignant yank. "See if you get any tip from me!"

The baron's jaw dropped. "And I am no bellhop, idiot! Guards! _Guards!_ "

This was followed by a flood of rapid-fire German, angry and insistent, and Jim saw no reason to hang around to find out what the baron's words might mean. In a twinkling he tore the door back open and took off at a dead run along the corridor. Moments later the rumble of many pairs of jackbooted feet commenced, growing steadily in Jim's ears from behind him.

As well as from before.

…

The young doorman ushered Artie into Baron Hinterstoisser's ground floor office. "I shall inform the baron; please wait here," he said deferentially.

The fake Vogel glowered. "You block me from going to my own office, then leave me to, as the Americans say, cool my heels here? This is not efficient!"

The doorman blanched and stammered out some excuses before bowing his way out. Artie heard the man's feet scampering away, then smiled to himself. "How kind of Hinterstoisser to be absent!" he murmured, looking around the office. "And now, if I were a priceless little art treasure, where in this room would I be hiding, hmm?"

Not, he soon found out, in the desk, nor in the filing cabinet, nor the liquor cabinet, nor any other piece of furniture. Having eliminated the obvious places, Artie unleashed his imagination to check any and every esoteric nook he could find.

The most inviting of all was the nearly life-sized portrait of the Emperor taking up most of the wall behind Hinterstoisser's desk. A quick check along the edge of the frame revealed to Artie a set of hinges at the right. Accordingly he gave the left edge of the painting a tug. Yep, the huge panel swung out, disclosing that behind it was…

Artie blinked. He had expected to find a safe embedded in the wall, but here was merely a sliding door with a handle at the bottom, and above it to the left a small tasseled bell pull. What was this?

He glanced toward the office door, listened for a second to the lack of sound in the foyer beyond, then turned again to the hidden door behind the painting, grasped its handle, and slid the small door open.

A dumbwaiter? Artie stared at it for a second. _That's_ what Hinterstoisser had concealed behind his monarch's portrait: nothing but a dumbwaiter? The small wooden car was right here parked before the opening, but it was plainly empty.

Artie searched it anyway, rapping at all the surfaces he could see, running his hands along all the surfaces he could not. Nothing there; not a blessed thing.

Nor did he find any sign of the missing Phoenix anywhere else in the office. Hmm. So the precious bird was not here? And if not in this office, where else in the embassy might it be?

He frowned as he stood there in Hinterstoisser's office, pondering on the puzzle of the Phoenix. But for that matter, where was the baron? Shouldn't he have arrived by now? How long could it possibly take for that doorman to fetch him?

And might the fact that Hinterstoisser hadn't yet arrived mean that Jim was having a bit of trouble upstairs?

A bellowing voice, followed by a tremendous racket of feet running up the stairs, gave Artie his first clue.

…

Jim could still hear Hinterstoisser's voice barking out commands in irascible German, though the thunder of the approaching feet would soon drown that out. At any moment the first of the guards would appear around a corner either before him or behind, Jim knew. He gave one more glance around, and seeing nothing of help in the corridor save for a rather tall sturdy highboy, he leapt up, caught hold of the decorative edging around the top of the cabinet, and swung himself up atop it. Here he drew himself down into the tightest ball he could, and waited.

And not a moment too soon. A round dozen of green-liveried guards came swarming from the direction of the baron's room, his voice still echoing after them. They made a hasty search as they went, throwing open doors, even checking the interior and underside of Jim's own hiding place. Snarling orders in German at the others, a tall blond urged them on, and a moment later the corridor was empty again.

It wouldn't be for long, Jim knew. Once that group met the others coming from the opposite way, they would realize they had been too hasty and reappear, more determined than ever to find the baron's intruder. Jim would have to be gone first. He hopped down and took off back the way he'd come, turning one corner, almost to the next.

Wait, no, someone was approaching! Quickly he ducked into a recessed doorway, picked the door's lock, and darted within.

Ah, good: this room at least was unoccupied! It had the look of a lab, full of retorts and tubing, jars of chemicals, even a photographic camera. But the thing that particularly caught Jim's attention was the set of French windows in the opposite wall. In a second or two he was across the room and out onto the balcony. He pulled the doors shut behind him, ducked down out of sight from the interior of the room, took a quick look around, then leapt over the side of this balcony to land on the one just below it.

Now to hope there was no one looking for him on the second floor! Jim glanced through the new set of French windows and, seeing no one, eased them open and slipped inside.

Instantly a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

 **End of Act One**


	6. Act Two, Part One

**Act Two, Part One**

Sixteen by twelve, that was the size of his hospital room. Gaspar Kutman had counted the tiles of the ceiling many, many times by now: sixteen square-foot tiles long and twelve tiles across. One door, one window — barred, of course. One bed, thoughtfully equipped with two sets of iron manacles by which the big prisoner's wrists were shackled to the sturdy metal bedstead. One small table upon which there stood a ewer full of water and a glass from which to drink. One straight-backed chair for the occasional use of Dr Feldstrom whenever he came to see the patient — used also now and again by the representative of the British embassy whenever he chose to put in an appearance and pepper the portly Kutman with questions about his unsuccessful plans to abscond with the Florentine Phoenix.

Kutman sighed. Any day now, Feldstrom had told him that morning. Any day now Kutman would be sufficiently recovered from his recent heart attack to be turned over to that representative of the British government to be shipped out — quite literally! — across the wide Atlantic to stand trial in London.

And he could see no way out of it. No way to escape the fate that was in store for him. For his audacious crime of attempting to acquire the precious Phoenix by felonious means, he was no doubt to spend the rest of his natural life imprisoned! And the worst of it all, the part that distressed him more even than the prospect of never taking a free breath again, was that he had never even gotten to see the Florentine Phoenix! To lose all and yet never feast his eyes upon the priceless treasure!

Ah… Kutman sighed once more. Such was life though, yes? Such was Kismet! Again his eyes drifted to the tiles that demarked the limits of his hospital room. Sixteen by twelve: he knew the numbers, but having nothing else to do to keep his mind occupied, he began once more to count them…

The door sprang open and shut again, admitting the trim figure of a nurse. To Kutman's surprise she grabbed the only chair and thrust the back of it up under the doorknob, effectively locking the door. She then crossed swiftly and gracefully to his bedside. He watched her with acute puzzlement, taking in her elfin heart-shaped visage, her dark and lively eyes, the odd familiarity of her entire being.

"Hello, Gaspar," she said, smiling down on him.

He gaped at her in response. "Why… Ecstasy! My dear!"

…

Jim caught a fleeting impression of a dark green uniform and a scarred face as he grabbed the hand that had landed on his shoulder and whirled. An instant later his unknown opponent went flipping through the air to measure his length in the middle of the floor. "Ow…" he complained.

Jim gave a short sharp sigh. "Artie, you should know better than to grab me in the middle of a case. Not without introducing yourself, at least." He reached down to give his partner a boost back to his feet.

"You're right," Artie grimaced. "I _should_ know better!" He dusted himself off, then found a reflective surface to check the state of his disguise. "Ok, looks fine. I'm presuming you're the reason for all the hullabaloo upstairs?"

"A bit."

"Ah?" Artie was reaching into a pocket to produce a pair of manacles.

"Oh, I just ran into Baron Hinterstoisser by accident. He wasn't amused."

"Oh?" Artie paused in the very act of slapping the cuffs on Jim. " _You_ ran into Hinterstoisser? Well, that's interesting! Refresh my memory, James, but wasn't the plan for _me_ to attract everyone's attention, Hinterstoisser's included, while you were unobtrusively searching the upstairs?"

"That was Plan A, yes." Jim glanced over his shoulder at Artie and his winsome iron bracelets. "And a prominent feature of Plan B just _has_ to involve me in manacles?"

Artie arched an eyebrow. "You want your fat pulled out of the fire, or don't you?"

"No, that's fine. I think I see where you're going with this."

"Good."

"And it's not like we've never had to fall back on Plan B, C, D, or even Q when Plan A didn't exactly go according to, er, plan." Jim stretched his shackled arms behind his back, settling the manacles a bit more comfortably.

Artie chuckled. "That is eminently true, James my boy, if somewhat inelegantly stated." He went to the door, took a quick look about, and said, "All right, the coast is clear. Let's go!"

…

Kutman's manacles rattled slightly as the big man took one of the girl's slim hands between his own great mitts. "But my dear Ecstasy! Whatever are you doing here?"

"I need your help," she said, her voice dropping confidingly.

" _My_ help?" With a sharp laugh he gestured at the confines of his hospital room and the shackles chaining him to the bed. "What variety of help do you anticipate I might be able to offer you, my dear, considering my straitened condition?"

Her reply was the last thing he expected to hear. "You had a buyer lined up for the Phoenix, didn't you?" she asked.

He lay back in shock for a moment, his multitude of chins drooping upon his chest. "Phoe… Phoenix! Did I hear you correctly: the Florentine Phoenix? Of that you speak, and no other?"

"None other in all the world, Gaspar. You hired me to steal it, and steal it I have."

He blinked, and for the first time since his heart attack a bit of color came into his wide pale face. "You… stole it?"

A proud twinkly-eyed smile spread across the girl's face. "I certainly have!" Swiftly she filled him in on her activity of the previous night — including her encounter with his erstwhile bodyguard.

"But… but this is amazing! Extraordinary! You are telling me that Merle Koch, the man I hired in San Francisco to be my trusted minion, was in fact a sham, a charlatan, an impostor intending to use me as the means to his own end, in order for him to…"

"Yes, yes, yes, Gaspar! He was going to steal the Phoenix from you after I had stolen it _for_ you. He kept mentioning his true employer, though he didn't go into details. Whoever it was, he's absolutely set on having the Phoenix all for himself, and not particularly concerned about the tidiness of the details."

"Hmph! Plainly not, if leaving you lying outside the Smithsonian in a pool of blood was an acceptable outcome. And you have come to me to learn for whom I was acting as agent in our recent, ah, business arrangement?"

"That was my idea, yes. Our deal _is_ still on, isn't it?"

Slowly Kutman drew a deep breath, and still more slowly sighed it out. "Ah, my dear. If only — if only!" He closed his eyes and shook his great head.

She frowned and tipped her head. "Gaspar?"

He gave a rumbling rueful laugh. "Oh, my dear Ecstasy, it is not to be. I had no buyer; I myself was the buyer! And still _would_ be the buyer, if only I could! But you see before you a broken man." He spread his manacled arms. "Broken, destitute, much of my great wealth confiscated by mine enemies, and such as is left to me unfortunately well out of my current reach. Unless you would be willing to, ah…" His pale eyes gleamed at her, the least hint of hope shining in them. "…to wait for your payment, until such time as I am able to arrange for it?"

She folded her arms and fixed him with a glare. "Gaspar, I still have a passel of German agents combing the city for me. I need the money _now_ to make my escape!"

"Ah." He sighed and let his many chins droop upon his chest again. "So I feared, so I feared. It is as I said: it is not to be." Again he took her hand between his and patted her slender fingers. "Too bad, dear Ecstasy, too, too bad! And all too soon shall I be spirited off to dear old England, there to languish for my sins till the end of my days, having never once laid these rheumy eyes of mine upon the likes of that exquisite bird above price!" His hands slid from hers to pluck at his bed sheets as his great head continued to ponderously shake from side to side.

She gave a tender smile. "Well… I can at least do something about that!" Turning away a bit, she lifted the skirt of her nurse's uniform on the side farthest from the big man, rummaged at something he craned in vain to see, then held out to him a small black pouch.

In wonder, his eyes aglow, his hands atremble, he took it from her. "Ecstasy," he whispered, his voice nigh to failing him, "is… is this…?"

A broad smile lit her face. "Have a look," she said.

Never had his fingers felt so corpulent, so unwieldy, as he fumbled to open the pouch and draw forth its contents! But there! There! Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes as he drank in the beauty of the priceless treasure now glittering in his hand. "The… the key!" he exclaimed and pawed to find it.

"Right here, Gaspar," said the girl, laying it in his other hand.

With a soft whimper he jittered the key into its hole on the bottom of the precious egg, then wound it up. And there the big man sat, enraptured, as the Florentine Phoenix went through its paces.

…

"James my boy," Artie murmured out of the corner of his mouth, "you certainly know how to clear an embassy." The two agents had met no one on their trek along the corridors of the second floor, nor was there anyone in view here as they hurried down the stairs to reach the foyer.

"They won't all stay upstairs forever," Jim remarked. He glanced swiftly around, then started for Hinterstoisser's office. "We need to make this quick."

"Then let's not bother with any ground I've already covered," said Artie, giving a tug on the chain that secured Jim's manacled hands behind his back.

"Oh, you already finished with the Baron's office?" Jim caught on immediately.

"Right, and found nothing."

Jim nodded. "So let's search Vogel's instead," he said, and ducked through the doorway under the stairs to stride off in the direction of the office they knew belonged to the Rumormeister.

"Right behind you, Jim," said Artie as the two made tracks through the still-deserted ground floor.

…

"Schwimmer, stop poking at my ear, _Dummkopf!"_ snarled _Herr_ Vogel as their carriage clattered up to the iron gate before the embassy. " _Ach, Himmel_ , but you are as bad as a mother hen!"

"But, _mein Herr_ , your ear! It is bleeding again!"

" _Ach…!"_ Vogel snatched the handkerchief from Schwimmer's hand and dabbed at his injured left auricle. Glancing at the cloth and observing the fresh deep red stains upon it, he cut loose with a volley of Teutonic imprecations denigrating the character and ancestry of a certain _Fräulein_ La Joie. "Come, Schwimmer," he ordered as they alighted from the carriage, "we must plan our next move to capture that wretched girl!"

" _Jawohl, mein Herr_ ," said Schwimmer, hurrying ahead to open the gate for his superior, "and also we must inform the baron of the loss of the Phoenix!"

That gave the Rumormeister sufficient pause that he hesitated a moment on the front porch. " _Ja_ …" Abruptly turning to one side, Vogel gestured to his aide to follow him. "We will go around to reach my office by the back way," he said.

"But… but Baron Hinterstoisser…!" Schwimmer hissed, hurrying after his boss.

"He will know soon enough. First we will make our plans!" growled Vogel.

Neither one paid the least attention to the angry voice that called out to them from the carriage. "Hey! _Hey!"_ hollered the cabbie. "Whaddaya think yer doin', stiffin' me on my fare! Get back here an' pay me!" He hopped down from his seat and stormed after the Germans, muttering darkly about danged furriners thinking they could cheat honest Americans. "I want my fare!"

…

At length the last of the golden slivers of the egg clicked back into its place, returning the splendid work of art to its original state. For a long moment Kutman just sat there, his hands over his mouth, overwhelmed, speechless.

Ecstasy moved to take the Phoenix from him, but his hand abruptly was blocking hers. "No! No… A, another moment yet, if you please. Let me… let me reconcile myself to never gazing again upon such magnificence!"

The girl smiled, and leaned back.

Kutman drew in a deep breath. He lifted the golden egg, cradling it in his great hands. Then the anguish of his soul tore from his mouth: "No! There _is_ no reconciling! If the Phoenix may not be mine, then it shall be none other's as well!" And with all his strength Kutman made to fling the delicate treasure at the nearest wall!

"Ga…!" The little thief never finished crying out the man's name. With one hand she caught hold of the chain on his wrist, shortening his throw, while with the other she snatched the precious bauble before it could clear the grasp of his fingers.

"No!" he howled. "No! If I cannot have it…!"

"Don't be a fool, Gaspar!" Swiftly she returned the Phoenix and its key to the little black pouch, and then the pouch to its hiding place under her skirt. She whirled to glance at the door; a sound of running feet was rapidly approaching from outside. "Oh, you silly old goose, you've attracted attention!" she scolded. With a shake of her head, she reached out and patted the big man's cheek.

" _Ah!"_ he gasped, his hand springing to his face to rub at the tiny pinprick he'd just felt. "What have you done!"

"Now, now, nothing to worry about, Gaspar," she said, holding up her hand and waggling her fingers to show off the small ring in residence there. "Merely a little souvenir of my old days in the Assassin's Club."

"Assass…!" Horrified, Kutman blinked, then blinked again, fighting hard against the drowsiness that was rapidly overwhelming his constitution.

"That was the name of the club, but not the purpose of the ring," she smiled reassuringly. "It's only a little knock-out preparation. You'll sleep deeply and awaken again, I promise you." With a chuckle she added, "You may not like how you feel when you awaken, granted, but awaken you shall." She smoothed the sheets of his bed around him, then leaned down to deposit a quick kiss on his forehead. "Pleasant dreams, Gaspar!"

Moments later the door sprang open and Dr Feldstrom strode in. "Whatever's wrong with you now, Mr Kut… _Gaah!_ Who left that there?" For the doctor had just crashed into the only chair in the room, which had somehow found its way into the most direct path from door to bed. After righting himself as well as the chair, the doctor continued to the bed and frowned down at the patient.

Well, whatever the big man had been yelling about a few seconds earlier, he was certainly asleep now! Dr Feldstrom planted his fists on his hips and shook his head.

Hmm? For in doing so, Feldstrom had spotted from the corner of his eye the sight of the curtains blowing in the breeze from the open window. "Who opened that?" he muttered rhetorically as he crossed the room to close the sash. And if he happened to look past the wide-set bars of the window to notice the trim figure of a nurse walking quickly away in the alley two stories below — well, he paid the sight no mind. After all, who notices a nurse near a hospital?


	7. Act Two, Part Two

**Act Two, Part Two**

"So far, so good," murmured Artie as Jim elbowed the door of Vogel's office closed behind them. The two glanced around swiftly, taking in the assortment of heavy furniture, the pair of tall paintings flanking the narrow window that looked out upon the back garden, the variety of innocent-looking nooks and crannies that might well conceal a unseen safe or perhaps even an entire hidden passage or room. "Where to start…" Artie mused, thumping at his nose with a forefinger.

"You can start by removing these," Jim prompted, turning his back and jingling the chains. "That is, unless you'd prefer to turn this place over all by yourself."

"Hmm? Oh, right!" Artie pulled out the key and clicked open the first of the manacles. "And then we can…" he began.

His statement was cut off by the sudden opening of the door through which they had just entered. " _Herr_ Vogel, there you are!" came a voice with a clipped German accent. "You have returned from your little quest, _nicht wahr?_ And… _Wundervoll!_ You have captured our intruder!"

Artie froze in the act of unchaining Jim, and for a stunned moment both agents stood in silence, staring at Baron Hinterstoisser who was framed in the doorway. "Er… _ach, ja, Herr Baron_ ," Artie found himself saying. "I was just shackling the miscreant in order to, er…" He snapped the manacle back onto Jim's wrist, this time with his hands in front, and stealthily slipped a small but important item into his partner's palm.

" _Ja, ja_ , we shall interrogate the interloper. _Wundervoll!_ Come, we shall take him below stairs to the, ah…" Hinterstoisser chuckled. "…to the _guest_ chambers, hmm?" He stepped back to give the man he thought was his Rumormeister room to lead the prisoner away.

" _Jawohl_ , _Herr Baron_ ," said Artie, having no other choice. With a click of his heels he inclined his head to Hinterstoisser, then set out for the door, giving Jim's chains a yank as he hustled him along.

The corridor beyond, they found, was empty. Good. Three steps from the office, just as the baron emerged through the doorway as well, Jim swung around and fake-punched Artie, sending the _ersatz_ Vogel hurtling into Hinterstoisser and both of them crashing to the floor in a hopeless tangle of arms and legs. The next second Jim sprinted off around the nearest corner and disappeared from sight.

"Up! Up, you fool! After him! He is getting away!" cried out the baron, striving desperately to scramble to his feet again even as the man he presumed was his own chief spy somehow developed a bad case of lummoxery, each of his extremities managing with perfect precision to intervene — if not interlock — with the baron's arms and legs, knocking them both down to sprawl on the carpet time and again.

"Get off me!" bellowed Hinterstoisser.

" _Ja! Jawohl, Herr Baron!"_ In a state of seeming befuddlement, the imitation Vogel struggled upright at last and proffered a hand to help the baron up as well, all the while babbling out a profusion of apologies. And just as both men reached vertical again at last, Vogel abruptly cut loose with a truly prodigious sneeze — which sent him toppling right into Hinterstoisser once more.

A moment later, they were both lying on the floor yet again.

"Get away from me, _Dummkopf!"_ the baron roared. Seething with fury, he cut loose with a protracted litany of Teutonic oaths, lambasting everything from Vogel's private life to the marital status of the man's parents at the time of his birth.

" _Entschuldigung Sie bitte, Herr Baron…"_ Artie apologized, panting heavily. This was hard work, taking one pratfall right after another! Still, every contusion he'd be nursing tomorrow would be worth it all, just as long as Jim got away.

A clatter of booted feet echoed towards them from around the corner, heralding the arrival of one of the guards. " _Herr Baron!"_ he cried out, saluting Hinterstoisser. "The intruder — he is ours! We have captured him!"

" _Exzellent_!" exclaimed the baron as the newcomer pulled him to his feet. "No one escapes Baron Hinterstoisser, _nicht wahr?_ And now, come, Vogel — if you can manage to avoid tripping over your own feet again, that is. Come, we shall interrogate that rash young _Amerikaner!"_

He set off joyfully following the guard, with a glumly bruised Artie bringing up the rear.

…

In an opulently appointed boudoir within the Bosnian embassy across town, a beautiful blonde attired in a silvery silken peignoir strode briskly across the room to tug on the crushed velvet bell pull by the door. She waited expectantly, then frowned when no one responded to her summons. Giving another more urgent yank on the decorated cord, she called out, "Marie? Marie, my girl, attend to me at once! I wish to dress!"

Several more seconds passed, during which the noble lady grew more and more impatient, before at last the door opened and a demurely dressed brunette entered, murmuring softly, "My abject apologies, Countess."

"Ah, there you are, lazy thing!" the countess fussed. "Now fetch me my lilac organdy gown, then come and do my hair!" She swept away from the maid, having barely even glanced at the girl, to seat herself before her gold-trimmed vanity table where she opened her jewelry box and began choosing what she would wear this lovely afternoon.

Moments passed, and the countess realized that the maid had not crossed to the wardrobe to fetch out the dress. Nor had she drawn near to the vanity to arrange the noblewoman's blonde tresses. No, she was still near the door, and… The countess peered more closely at the scene reflected in her mirror, then whirled in her chair. "Marie!" she scolded. "What do you think you're doing? Why are you locking the door?"

For the maid had in fact turned the key of the countess' door, then pocketed the key. Now at last she crossed the room, but not heading for the closet. And the way she moved! There was nothing demure or abject about the woman now. "Marie!" cried the countess. "What has come over you? Why are you…?"

And then she realized. "You're not Marie!"

The brunette smiled. "How clever of you to notice, Countess Zorana. No, I'm not your maid. But don't worry about her; she'll be fine when she wakes up again."

"You! _You!"_ Zorana sprang to her feet and interposed her chair between herself and her visitor. "What are you doing here? How did you get here? What do you want?"

Ecstasy La Joie smiled broadly. "My, my, my! So many questions, my dear Countess! But the best one of all is the one you didn't ask. It's not a matter of what _I_ want, but what _you_ want." She reached into a pocket and pulled out a small black pouch.

"Stay away from me; I'm warning you!" exclaimed the countess. "You've cheated me enough already. I paid you twelve thousand dollars to steal the Florentine Phoenix for me, and you reneged on the deal, stealing it for yourself, then demanding I take part in your ridiculous auction to _bid_ for that for which I'd already paid! You are _persona non grata_ to me, you despicable little thief, and you can just…"

Zorana's words trailed off as she saw what the despicable little thief had just produced from within the small black pouch. Gently Ecstasy laid the exquisite golden egg upon the countess' vanity table, then smiled up at her. "What you want, as I told you," said the thief.

"You…" Zorana breathed, stunned nearly beyond words. "What…? How…? Where…?"

"The Phoenix, of course. Stolen. From the Smithsonian," Ecstasy replied in order. "Any more questions?"

"I…" The countess stared at the dainty treasure, momentarily unable to tear her eyes from it. Then her head snapped up and she glared at the little thief. "The fake one, no doubt!" she snarled. "If that's the real one, prove it!"

"Nothing easier." Ecstasy now brought forth the key as well, wound up the beautiful _objet d'art_ , then watched the countess' face as the Phoenix authenticated itself.

…

Schwimmer eased open the kitchen door around the back of the embassy and peered into the surprisingly small room before stepping inside. "We are in luck!" he called to his superior. "There is no one here. Come, _mein Herr!"_

" _Sehr gut_ ," Vogel responded, striding briskly past his subordinate. "If we are quick, we shall perhaps avoid the notice of the…"

His words broke off abruptly for, just as he reached the interior door, it popped open nearly in his face. He skipped backwards a couple of steps as the door edged open just wide enough for a hand to intrude itself through that narrow aperture into the kitchen — a hand bearing a large and glitteringly sharp carving knife.

…

"Ohhh… the pain…"

Kutman groaned, the phrase _You may not like how you feel when you awaken,_ echoing in his head. Of a truth, the girl's prediction had been disgustingly accurate! Between the clouds of sticky cotton floss crammed within his skull and the sharp, lingering sensation of that pinprick upon his cheek, the aging convalescent was in an exceedingly foul mood indeed! "I could cheerfully throttle the little minx with these two hands," he muttered under his breath.

"Yes?" came the murmur of a soft and all-too familiar voice. "And what little minx might that be, my dear Mr Kutman?"

 _What?_ Kutman's pale blue eyes flew open, only to discover that for the second time today he had an unexpected visitor — and this one a great deal less welcome than the first. "You!" he snarled. "What do you think you're doing here, you preposterous toad? Leave my presence at once!" He threw up a manacled arm to point an imperious finger at the door.

The little man in the big overcoat shook his head, his great bulgy eyes blinking. "Oh, but my dear Mr Kutman!" he grinned. "We are such old friends, are we not?" From one pocket of the greatcoat the visitor drew forth a jackknife which he began casually flipping open and closed, open and closed.

Abruptly he plunged the blade of the knife through Kutman's hospital gown and into the mattress of his bed, pinning the big man in place. Leaning close, the little fellow breathed, "And we have _so much_ to discuss together today, do we not, old friend? Beginning, of course, with the little minx you wish to throttle. True?"

…

Remembering the baron's mention of the "ahem — _guest_ chambers" somewhere below stairs, Artie was fully expecting the guard to escort them down into a warren of cellars beneath the embassy, down into some musty labyrinth of catacombs from which it would no doubt prove desperately difficult to extract his captive partner. So it came as a pleasant surprise that the young guard was instead leading them straight to Baron Hinterstoisser's office. Hiding his great relief behind an impassive mask, Artie surreptitiously produced a small glass orb from a hidden pocket, ready to toss down the little smoke bomb to give Jim and himself some cover for their impending escape.

He was only a half-step behind the baron as the proud German entered the office. "Well, well!" Hinterstoisser crowed, already speaking. "So much for your short-lived freedom, _Herr_ West! Now we shall… _Himmel! Was ist los?"_

What was this indeed! Artie took one look at the gagged and chained man the guards were keeping watch over and had to mask his relief once again. For whoever the poor schnook was whom they had captured, he was a complete stranger to Artemus Gordon. Evidently Jim was still on the loose!


	8. Act Two, Part Three

**Act Two, Part Three**

Word had spread quickly throughout the embassy that the invader had been captured. A dozen green-clad guardsmen sped along a second story corridor heading for the stairs, eager to be on hand for the entertainment of the interrogation. Not a one of them gave a second glance — no, nor even a first one — at a gorgeous blue-and-white vase standing in a corner of the corridor upon a waist-high pedestal. Certainly none of the guards thought to look back once they had passed the shadowy nook the decorative vase made, a nook big enough to conceal a man.

And so none of them saw Jim West slip out from his hiding space behind the vase. Having long since divested himself of the manacles by means of the key Artie had palmed to him, Jim now listened carefully for the sound of any more unwelcome company and, hearing nothing, set out for the nearest window, eased open the sash, and slithered through. Quietly he lowered himself out of view until he was dangling from the sill, hanging on with one hand as he did his best to shut the window again with the other hand.

His best wasn't quite as good as he would have wished; the frame stopped closing an obvious two inches above the sill. Any farther, though, and he'd risk shutting it on his fingers.

Well, there was nothing more he could do about that. He gave a quick glance downward, and seeing that the coast was clear, he let go of the window sill to drop to the lawn below.

Jim hit the ground and instantly rolled into a crouch, then scrambled for the covert of some shrubbery. Again he listened, and again he heard nothing. Wondering how Artie had managed to convince all the guards that his partner was safely under arrest again, Jim edged out of the bushes and glided around the side of the embassy, heading for a certain narrow window beyond which lay the Rumormeister's office, still waiting to be searched.

Now if only Artie could keep everyone busy until Jim was done…

…

Schwimmer made a soft squeak of alarm as the wielder of the knife thrust the interior kitchen door fully open with a _bang_. The Rumormeister and his man now found themselves facing a broad, beady-eyed, scowling visage — but to their great relief, a familiar one.

Putting on a winsome smile and notching up his charisma noticeably, _Herr_ Vogel purred, " _Ach, mein liebes Frau Hilda! Guten Tag, Liebchen!"_ He caught the cook's hand, deftly relieving her of the carving knife even as he bestowed a flirtatious kiss upon her gnarled knuckles.

Her scowl deepened as she snatched away her hand. "It is no use trying to charm me, _Herr_ Vogel," she snapped peevishly. "You men, always trying to raid my kitchen! Well, it won't do! I served _das Mittagessen_ well over an hour ago. As you were clearly absent while everyone else was eating, you must do without until _das Abendessen_ is ready. You know the rules of my kitchen: I do _not_ feed moochers in between meals!" She turned her glower toward Schwimmer, adding, "And that goes for you as well. Now, away with you both! Vacate my kitchen at once!" She stabbed a finger emphatically towards the inner door.

Vogel came to attention with a click of his boot heels and an impish gleam in his eye. " _Jawohl, meine Kapitänin_ — at once!" he intoned waggishly. Then, giving an imperious snap of his fingers to his subordinate, the Rumormeister swept past the disgruntled cook to disappear deeper into the embassy, striding for his office as his man Schwimmer hurried right behind.

…

Countess Zorana sagged back into her chair, blinking in disbelief over what she had just seen. "The, the Phoenix!" she murmured in awe. "The bona fide, genuine item! And here, in my boudoir! The treasure I hired you to steal for me…"

"And I've delivered it," said Ecstasy.

"So you have, so you have." Zorana reached out a hand toward the Phoenix, then leapt to her feet instead. "But why?" she demanded. "Why are you here, and why have you brought that to me?"

Ecstasy gave a smiling shrug and spread her hands. "I've fulfilled my bargain with you, my lady."

"Fulfilled, _faugh!"_ the other exclaimed. "You stole the Phoenix once before in supposed fulfillment of our bargain, only to double-cross me and set out to auction it off to the highest bidder. No, no, my girl, you're not here to keep your end of our agreement. No, you want something else from me." And she gave suddenly a most unladylike snort. "Hah! No doubt you want more money! A second twelve thousand for you to squander like the first! Well, you won't get it, not from me!"

"I _do_ want something, but not another twelve thousand dollars," Ecstasy admitted. "I'll settle for two thousand — even one! All I need is enough money to get me well away from Washington City. _Right_ away, and without those obnoxious Germans finding out what I'm doing."

"Germans? _What_ Ger… Oh!" A smirk of recognition suffused the countess' face. "That, that bodyguard of Kutman's — whatever was his name — Koch! _He's_ onto you? Kutman sent him to…"

"No, no, no!" Ecstasy cut in impatiently. "Kutman had nothing to do with it. He wasn't even there at the auction; that was Artemus Gordon, if you can believe it! No, Koch is actual some Vogel fellow, whoever _that_ is, and he's trying to get the Phoenix, for… well… I don't really know who he's working for, but it wasn't Gaspar, I know _that_ much."

Zorana smiled smugly. "Then you know very little indeed, my dear Miss La Joie! You should spend more time in Washington City, listening to the local gossip. Vogel, you say? _Herr_ Vogel, the legendary Mr Bird?"

Ecstasy's eyebrows shot up. "You know him?"

Zorana made a small moue and a shrug. "Know _of_ him, at least. I have never met him — or thought I had not, was not aware that I had, I should say. He is German, though, that much is true. And if he is working for anyone," she added musingly, tapping at her chin with a forefinger, "why, it must be for the descendant and heir of the original owner of the Phoenix! _He_ , as I know very well, has been hounding the government of Bosnia to return the precious bird to him!" She laughed with a shake of her head. "Not that Bosnia will ever do such a thing! The Phoenix belongs to _us_ now! We will go to any lengths, yes, even to _war_ against Germany and against her haughty Emperor before we will ever turn over to him our beautiful national treasure!" She drew herself up to her full height, the fire of patriotic ardor flaming in her eyes.

"Say that again?" came Ecstasy's voice.

"I said, we shall go to war against Ger… Why should I say that again?" she snapped.

"Because when you say _haughty Emperor_ , I know exactly with whom I should be dealing to sell the Phoenix, someone who will pay me every last dime I want for it!" With alacrity Ecstasy scooped up the Phoenix and its key, slipped them into their pouch again, and turned to go. " _Adieu_ , dear Countess," she called.

A glittering laugh echoed after her. "But my dear Miss La Joie, you're not going anywhere!" said the countess. "Or rather, the Phoenix is not going anywhere. It is a Bosnian treasure, and here within the Bosnian embassy shall it stay. You, on the other hand," she added, reaching into a drawer of her vanity, "are no treasure to anyone at all. In fact, you are distinctly expendable, I should say." And from the drawer Zorana produced a dainty little derringer, aimed it at her departing guest, and drew back the hammer.

…

The window to _Herr_ Vogel's office was locked — not that that was any impediment to James West. It took but a moment's work with his lock pick for the Federal agent to defeat the catch. In he went, softly sliding the window closed behind him. Now to find the Phoenix…

He first checked the paintings on the walls along with each of the suspiciously innocent-looking nooks and crannies of the room, searching for hidden safes, finding none. Pursing his lips, Jim turned his attention to the heavy furniture. He was just leaning down to inspect the underside of Vogel's desk when the door to the office sprang open. Instantly Jim tucked himself into the kneehole of the desk as two men entered.

"I am amazed, _mein Herr_ ," said a voice Jim didn't recognize, "that we have seen no one in the embassy except for _Frau_ Hilda."

" _Ja_ , that is curious, _nicht wahr?"_ came a second voice, and this one a voice Jim did know. "But close the door, Schwimmer. Even if no one is about, I still do not wish for us to be disturbed."

" _Jawohl, mein Herr_ ," responded the first voice. A second later Jim heard the door click shut. A pair of booted feet then crossed the room. Skirting the desk, the wearer of the boots drew up the chair that belonged with the desk, the chair that Jim had pushed aside just moments before. The man then settled with a sigh into the chair and stretched his feet out full length up under the desk.

Right into Jim's face.

…

" _Was ist los?"_ growled Baron Hinterstoisser yet again, glaring at the assembled guards. "Who is this man? Where did he come from?" he demanded.

"He… That is, he, ah…" one of the guards spoke up before realizing now was not the best time to be drawing attention to himself. Immediately he shut his mouth again.

Too late. "He what?" snarled the baron, planting his fists on his hips and looming over the hapless guard. "Explain yourself! Who is this man?"

Neither that guard nor any of the others seemed inclined to answer. The captive, however, was eagerly sputtering from behind his gag, throwing his head in all directions and yanking at the chains that held him bound to his chair.

With a flame in his eyes that seemed ready to flare forth and burn up all before him, Hinterstoisser fumed, "Release him! If none else will account for this debacle, _he_ shall!"

" _Jawohl, Herr Baron!_ " The men snapped to attention with a multitude of heel-clicks and hurried to obey.

Behind the baron's back stood a silent observer. His hands behind his back in the parade rest position — and a small item casually hidden within one of those hands — Artie watched the goings-on with minimal interest, his mind instead on the conundrum of what had become of his partner. Or rather his interest in the goings-on remained minimal only until the chains came off the captive and the gag was loosened from mouth.

"That's him!" the prisoner shouted, jumping to his feet. "That's the rat who cheated me! That fellow right there!" And he lifted one freshly liberated arm to point unequivocally straight at Artie.


	9. Act Two, Part Four

**Act Two, Part Four**

Ecstasy closed her eyes for a brief moment and sighed. "My dear Countess, do you really expect me to believe you've been utterly overcome with some sudden acute attack of patriotic fervor? All this business of 'oh, the Phoenix is a Bosnian national treasure which must by all means remain in Bosnia's possession!' Ha! Or to put it in _two_ words, dear Countess: My. Eye! Where were all these lofty idealistic convictions _last_ month, hmm? Back when you hired me to steal the Phoenix for you? Oh, but of course you've had a complete change of heart in the meantime and have gone from being a self-seeking larcenist to the very model of an exemplary citizen!" Ecstasy _tsked_ at Countess Zorana, shaking her head skeptically.

"You may believe whatever you wish, my dear; it's all one to me," Zorana countered, the derringer in her hand never wavering in its aim at the little thief. "Now. Let us see. You will set the pouch containing the Phoenix down, ah…" Swiftly the noblewoman surveyed the room. "There. Yes, there. On the divan near the door. Set it down and back away."

Ecstasy cocked an eyebrow at the countess, betraying not an ounce of fear in the face of the leveled weapon, and did as she was told.

"Good, good," purred Zorana. "Now back away even more, dear. Over there." She gestured with the gun, directing her captive into a far corner of the room, well away from divan, door, and vanity. "There. Precisely. Stay right there." Still covering Ecstasy with the derringer, the countess crossed toward the side of the divan farthest from the thief, then patted among the decorative throw pillows, trying to pick up the pouch without taking her eyes off her quarry.

Ecstasy sighed and leaned back against the wall, hands behind her. "You must think I'm viciously dangerous, Countess. I assure you, I'm not."

"Whether you're vicious or not is of no importance; I don't intend to trust you to get within ten feet of me, young woman." She patted at the divan again, this time coming up with the pouch. "There! And now that I have the Phoenix, I have no more need of you, Miss… ah… _What?"_

For to her shock she saw Ecstasy bring her hands out from behind her back — and she too was holding a small black pouch!

The countess blinked. "What have you done?" she demanded.

With a look of utter innocence upon her pixyish face, Ecstasy rejoined, "Why, either I did what you told me to do, or else I didn't! Either I placed the pouch containing the Phoenix on the divan, or else I still have the Phoenix here, while your pouch has… well, who knows what? And I do wonder which possibility is the truth." She smiled, her eyes crinkling merrily.

"You… you horrible little girl! If you've tricked me…!" Zorana scrabbled open the pouch in her possession, too upset to realize that she was using both hands to do so, and that her derringer was therefore no longer…

But Ecstasy noticed, of course. It was precisely what she had planned. As soon as the countess' attention shifted from her to the pouch, the thief sprang into action. Sprinting across the room in three swift bounds, she planted one foot on the divan and with the other kicked the derringer out of Zorana's hand. The little weapon went spinning through the air to land up against the far wall.

"Ah!" Zorana gasped and clutched at her wrist in both shock and pain, the pouch falling forgotten to the divan once more.

Ecstasy stood for a moment looking down at her, arms akimbo, shaking her head. "Oh, what a pity. And we could have been such friends! Still, my dear Countess," she added as she hopped back off the divan, tucked her own pouch away somewhere in her clothing, and scooped up the one that Zorana had dropped, "I'm hardly vindictive, not really. See? I'll even let you keep part of what's in this pouch as a gift. Call it a…" She chuckled. "…a token of my esteem!" The thief upended the pouch, shaking loose its contents onto the divan.

Two items fell out. One looked like nothing more than a large shiny ball, one half green, the other red, while the second item was an odd contraption, somewhat triangular, made of black rubber with a molded projection at one corner, a foot-long strap attached at either end to the other two corners, and a small bag dangling from the edge opposite the projection.

Ecstasy seized both items. Swiftly she lined up the projection of the triangular thing with her own nose and slipped the strap around her head, snugging the mask against her mouth. Then, with a wink, she grasped the shiny ball with both hands and twisted it open before tossing it down at the countess' feet.

Bright fuchsia smoke began pouring forth from the ball all along the split between the red and green halves. Zorana coughed, her hands coming up automatically to try to block out the anesthetic gas. Gasping and wheezing, she stumbled against the divan, fell across it, clutched at one of its small throw pillows, pressed the little cushion over her face in the hopes it would protect her.

It didn't. For a moment longer the countess fought desperately against the effects of the knock-out gas. But it was no use. The last thing she saw before unconsciousness overwhelmed her was the little thief's merry eyes regarding her over the top of her gas mask.

Zorana collapsed. Ecstasy, after making sure the Phoenix was safely secured under her skirt once more, strode for the door, let herself out with the key, then locked up again before depositing the key into a nearby potted plant. "Sweet dreams," Ecstasy purred toward the countess' door as she stripped off her mask again. Then, with a quick glance at a mirror in the hallway and a fluff of her hair, the little thief headed for the back way out of the Bosnian embassy to make good her escape.

…

"What are we going to do now, _mein Herr_?" said Schwimmer. "Baron Hinterstoisser expects us to deliver the Phoenix to him, but that girl…!"

" _Ja_ , that _diabolische_ girl who got to the Phoenix before we could!" responded the man sitting at the desk. He thought for a moment, then turned to the aide pacing before the window. "What of our men who were chasing her? Is there any word from them? Did not some of them go to check her hotel room?"

Schwimmer nodded. " _Ja, mein Herr!_ I personally ordered three men to keep watch over her hotel."

" _Sehr gut!_ And?"

"Ah… 'and,' _mein Herr_?"

His superior scowled. "And is there any report from them?" he snarled. "Schwimmer, I can only abide so much idiocy in a single day!"

The aide hurried to the desk and rummaged through the papers upon it swiftly. "I… I see no such reports here, _mein Herr_ ," he murmured.

"Then go and find out what they have learned!" his superior snapped, springing from his chair.

Swiftly saluting with a click of his heels, Schwimmer bolted from the room, all but slamming the door behind him in his haste. With the aide gone, the Rumormeister took his place pacing before the window, muttering to himself, " _Ach, Dummköpfe!_ I am surrounded by _Dummköpfe!_ I…"

"Artie!"

The scar-faced German spun toward the desk, amazed to see a man emerging from beneath it. And not just any man, but of all people, James West himself! Gaping, the German cried, "How…?"

"No time for that, Artie," said Jim quickly, glancing towards the door. "Good job getting rid of Vogel's trained monkey there. But you've learned the Germans don't even have the Phoenix? Then who stole it? And what girl were you two talking about anyway?"

For a split second _Herr_ Vogel regarded his sworn enemy, stunned to find that the infernal Secret Service agent had infiltrated so far into the sanctity of the embassy as to invade Vogel's own office! He opened his mouth, instinct prompting him to call out for the guards.

And then he closed his mouth instead. So, _Herr_ West was here? And if handled cunningly, might even prove to be of some use, _ja…_

"C'mon, Artie, quit stalling!" hissed West. "Schwimmer might be back any second. And what happened to your ear?"

Vogel's hand sprang to cover the injured auricle, and he winced involuntarily as he touched it. Putting on an aw-shucks expression, he brought forth his best impersonation of Artemus Gordon. "Aw, it's no big deal, Jim; it'll heal. Look, I found out that Ecstasy La Joie is the one who, uh, pilfered the little bauble. Now, I don't dare leave the embassy yet or Schwimmer will raise the alarm. You go on and try to find _Fr_ … Miss La Joie. I'll catch you up as soon as I can."

Jim eyed him for a moment. "You sure you want to stay behind, pal?"

Vogel nodded, assuming what he thought of as a suitably goofy look upon his face. "Yeah, sure, Jim, I'll be fine, just fine. Now, once you find Miss La Joie, why don't you, ah… Why don't you take her to the train, and I'll meet you back there, ok?"

"The train, huh?"

"Yes, yes, at the train. And I'll help you wring the Phoenix out of that _diab_ … that delectable little lady."

Jim grinned. "Well, if anyone could charm a girl into giving up expensive jewelry, that man would be Artie Gordon!" he exclaimed with a chuckle.

Vogel laughed as well. " _Gut, gut_ , er, good! Ok, now get out while I deal with Schwimmer."

Jim nodded and slipped out through the window again. As soon as his surprise visitor was gone, Vogel let out a great sigh of relief and dropped into his chair once more. Of all people, _Herr_ West! And to think he'd had to tell West about Ecstasy La Joie!

"Still…" Vogel murmured to himself. "Now that _Herr_ West is on that accursed girl's trail, perhaps he will recover the Phoenix from her. And once he has done our dirty work for us…" He chuckled, an evil grin spreading across his face. "…Schwimmer and the rest of my men will have something of a surprise awaiting West at his train!"

Rising from his chair again, a jovial _Herr_ Vogel stepped out of his office to track down Schwimmer and make arrangements for the surprise.

…

Baron Hinterstoisser turned his attention to the man at whom their captive had pointed. "Cheated him? Really? Why, _Herr_ Vogel, I am shocked! You cheated him?"

"I most certainly did not!" Artie blurted. "Why, I've never seen that fellow before in my life!" Which was absolutely true. Perhaps now was not the time for such utter candor, Artie had to admit (albeit only to himself), but the accusation had surprised the truth out of him; thank goodness it had not caused him to drop out of character altogether!

"I see…" rumbled the baron and stroked his chin contemplatively. Whirling towards their captive, he demanded, "You! Who are you, and why are you here? Surely you are aware that this is the German embassy. You have therefore no right to trespass upon what is to you foreign soil!"

" ' _Course_ I know this is the German embassy," scoffed the captive. "Whaddaya think I am, stupid? I'm here 'cause that jasper over there hopped into my cab and ordered me to drive him here, only to jump out again once we got here without payin' the fare. That's the only reason I came in here, mister! I want what's comin' to me, and I ain't leavin' till I git it!" The cabbie gave a sharp nod of his head and folded his arms.

The baron's eyebrow arched. " _Ach_ , indeed?" He turned a glare towards his _ersatz_ Rumormeister.

"I… I…" Artie huffed, putting on a big display of affronted honor. "I… Well, perhaps I… I may have, ah…" Slowly he drooped, then gave a shrug. "I still maintain that I do not recognize this man, but if what he says is true…"

" _Dummkopf! Idiot!"_ growled the baron, adding a string of additional comments regarding his chief spy's unwonted imbecility throughout this day. "And now, as you have caused this problem, Vogel," he concluded, scowling, "you shall rectify it. Take this… this _Amerikaner_ away and…" He paused, and now a big smile suffused his face. "…and as he desires to 'get what is coming to him,' you shall do as he wishes: take care of him. _Nicht wahr?"_ Again his eyebrow arched.

" _Jawohl, Herr Baron!"_ said Artie, slipping that little smoke bomb back into its hiding place even as he reached for the cabbie's arm, grateful for the opportunity to get both himself and this poor schnook out of the presence of Baron Nastiness. Except…

Suddenly the implication of that raised eyebrow hit him. " _Entschuldigung Sie bitte, Herr Baron…"_ Artie apologized cautiously, "but… 'Take care of him'?"

With the hooded gaze of a king cobra, Hinterstoisser nodded, an evil smirk curling his lips. "Precisely, Vogel. Just as I said. Take care of him."

Oh, great! Artie hurried the cabbie from the baron's office and glanced around the foyer beyond, shooting a longing gaze towards the main entrance to his right. If only he could just take the cabbie on out that door and set him free!

But no; he could feel the eyes of everyone in the baron's sanctuary boring into his back through the open office door. Throwing himself fully into character as Vogel, he marched the cabbie across the foyer to the doorway under the stairs, leading him through the elegant room there and on deeper into the embassy. He then paused for a second once they were out of sight, wondering into which part of the building he would now be expected to escort the man. After all, what room _would_ the Germans usually use for their quiet little executions?

 **End of Act Two**


	10. Act Three, Part One

**Act Three, Part One**

That fool Kutman, thought the little man in the great overcoat as he scurried through the streets of Washington City, had been satisfyingly forthcoming by the end of their interview. What a surprise the next person to enter that hospital room would find awaiting them! A little judicious use of the knife…

He giggled, picturing again the look of horror in Kutman's eyes as he had brought the blade right up to the tip of the sick man's nose. And then he had quickly sliced away a few inches of the man's bed sheet to use as a gag. Oh, Kutman would no doubt rat on him as soon as the gag was removed. But first the gag would need to be discovered, and by that time…

By that time who would guess where to look for him? He was already coming up on the Bosnian embassy. He might be playing a game of catch-up, having to surmise where the perfidious Miss La Joie would go next, but anyone coming after him would be doing precisely the same thing. No, he was safe. Safe for the moment, at least, and that was all that mattered. Soon he would overtake the despicable girl and relieve her of the Phoenix, and once that was done — ah! Once he had the priceless treasure in hand, then he would be the hero of the day, his reputation rehabilitated, his position at the museum restored to him, his good name…

"Yes," he murmured, "the good name of Bartholomew Memphis will no longer be besmirched!" Swiftly he scurried down an alleyway, intending to sneak onto the grounds of the Bosnia embassy by means of the back gate.

But then he spotted a little movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look…

And stifled a giggle. Ah, perfect, perfect! What could be better? He slipped into the closest shadows and reached into a pocket of his overcoat.

…

Quietly Artie led the cabbie through the interconnected fine front rooms of the embassy and on to the back service corridors beyond, hoping no one would spot them as he searched for a suitable exit. Softly, softly. He had an idea…

"Hey, where're we goin' anyway, mister?" the cabbie suddenly protested loudly. "I just wanna git my money an' git outta here!"

" _Scht!"_ hissed Artie. "Not so loud." He looked around again, then made up his mind. "This way. _Mach schnell!"_ he commanded and led the man around a corner.

Oops! A barrel-shaped woman in a cook's uniform appeared from a doorway at the far end of this new section of the hallway. Swiftly Artie pulled his companion back around the corner, slamming a hand over the man's mouth as he hoped for the best.

The woman's footsteps echoed along the hall. "Please go the other way, please go the other way," Artie muttered under his breath, not daring to sneak a peek round the corner lest she spot him, but instead listening intently, trying to discern whether she was coming towards them or not. The sharp clicking of her footsteps did not seem to be growing any louder.

On the other hand, they weren't growing any quieter either. Artie surveyed the section of corridor in which they hid, trying to think of somewhere else he could stash the cabbie, just in case…

Ah, but then an unseen door opened and closed, and the footsteps were heard no more.

"Whew!" breathed Artie. "Ok, c'mon."

The cabbie batted away his hand. "What the H-E-double-toothpicks d'ya think yer doin', buddy? What's all this pussyfootin' around, huh? An' where's my money?"

" _Scht!"_ Artie ordered again. He shot the guy a glare, then with a grumble of, " _Ach, Himmel!"_ he reached into a pocket, pulled out a coin, and slapped it into the cabbie's hand. "There! Happy now?"

The cabbie examined the coin skeptically, then implemented the time-honored test of putting the bite on it. "Hmm. Real, I guess. Ok, where's the exit? I gotta git back to work."

"Exactly what I had in mind," muttered Artie sotto voce, and he set off again with high hopes for the room that woman had just vacated.

…

Bless whoever had been doing their laundry! Ecstasy La Joie concealed herself between a pair of bed sheets dangling from adjacent lines, turning them into an impromptu dressing room as she swiftly changed out of one stolen outfit and into another. It was true, of course, that the people who owned this house and these clothes would not be pleased when they discovered what she had done. In particular, the teenaged boy who lived here would be furious to see the maid's uniform she was leaving him in exchange for his Sunday best!

She pinned the dress she had taken from Marie the maid onto the line, then made herself scarce.

Across the street, a little figure in a greatcoat emerged from the shadows and scuttled after her.

…

Artie opened the door slowly and peered within. Aha! He'd found the kitchen and, to his great relief, found it empty as well. "C'mon!" he hissed, waving the cabbie through the door. "And there's the exit," he pointed.

" 'Bout time!" grumbled the cabbie. He hurried on out the door without so much as a thanks or a farewell. Not that the lack of common courtesy annoyed Artie for even a second. _That_ burden was off his shoulders, and that was all that mattered! "Now to find Jim," he told himself, and whipped back towards the interior door.

To find someone standing in that door, blocking his way!

…

A slight figure dressed in a Sunday best suit sauntered along the side of the road heading for the German embassy, then stopped and tipped her head. A horse-drawn carriage was pulled up before the embassy's front gate, parked and apparently abandoned, for its driver was nowhere in sight.

Hmm… Ecstasy gave the matter some quick consideration. Her attire, she mused, might well pass for that of a cabbie. She could go to the door, appeal to the carriage at the gate in order to claim she was here to pick someone up, and so gain entrance to the embas…

Ah. A man burst out from the gate, hopped to the seat of the carriage, and drove off in a great hurry.

"Well," murmured Ecstasy, "so much for that idea! But there's always another way to skin a cat." She strolled on, casually casing the embassy as she passed it by.

Behind her a figure in a greatcoat followed in her wake.

…

Artie was staring, practically nose to nose, into the bulldog face of the woman in the cook's uniform — nor was it a pleasant view either, for her cold glare would have given Queen Victoria a run for her money in the "We are not amused" department. "Ah… _Guten Tag, mein… er… meine gute Frau…"_ he ventured.

Her piggy eyes narrowed. "And just what do you think you're doing in my kitchen, _Herr_ Vogel — again?"

Artie's eyebrows snapped to attention. "Again?"

"Yes, again! I chased you and that minion of yours out of here not…" She consulted the clock on the wall. "Not half an hour ago. I told you then and I tell you now: _no_ raiding my kitchen between meals. Now out with you, _mein Herr!_ Out and stay out!" She stepped to the side and pointed an emphatic finger at the door and the interior of the embassy beyond.

" _Jawohl, meine gute Frau,"_ said Artie quickly and passed on through the door, his mind busy. So the real _Herr_ Vogel had returned; time to round up Jim and skedaddle!

…

Jim was ready to round up Artie and get out of here. After exiting _Herr_ Vogel's office through its window, Jim had reentered the embassy by means of the upper floor window he had recently left partway open. Dodging the various guards had become second nature by now; Jim was fairly certain he'd used the top of the same cabinet for a hiding place as least three times now. He slipped along a third floor corridor, then ducked into a room as the sound of footsteps drew near.

At least this room was empty! Glancing around and seeing nothing of particular interest — no, not even a balcony; only a tall double-hung window graced the far wall — Jim waited by the door, listening for the footsteps to pass on by.

Except they didn't. Even as Jim watched, the door handle, mere inches away from him, began to turn.

…

A trim figure in Sunday best slipped along the side wall of the German embassy, found a likely spot, and skimmed up the wall. For a moment she held on to the barricade of spear points that marched along the top of the wall, peering within to make sure she wasn't observed. And once she was satisfied, she vaulted over the barricade, dropped inside into sovereign German territory, and raced for the nearest window.

Behind her, still outside the wall, Bartholomew Memphis longed to follow her. Scaling walls, however, was very much beyond his catalog of skills, not even a wall that was barely five feet high — six, counting the pointy spears. Gnashing his teeth, the little man vented his anger with a swift kick to the vexatious obstacle that dared stymie his plans.

And then he limped some little distance away and settled in to wait for Miss La Joie to make her exit again, the irritating female!

…

The door next to Jim swung open to admit five men in green uniforms. " _Der_ _Amerikaner_ is still at large," said the big blond leader. "Search this room!"

" _Jawohl!_ " the others responded and spread out, peering under and around everything in sight. One man looked under the desk, another behind the curtains, a third into the shadows beside a freestanding bookcase.

And the fourth? The fourth turned to face the door as he swung it shut…

…only to discover the fugitive James West standing in the angle behind the door! For a heartbeat the two merely stared at each other.

And then Jim sprang, firing one solid fist straight into the guard's midsection. With a loud " _Oof_ ," the man doubled up and crumpled to the floor.

The others whirled at the sound. " _Der_ _Amerikaner!"_ exclaimed their leader. "Get him!"

They tried. Oh, how they tried! The closest one to Jim took a swing at him. Jim ducked under it, and replied with an uppercut. As that man staggered backwards, his head spinning, another plowed into Jim and bore him to the floor. The remaining two men still standing piled into the fight as well and managed to catch hold of Jim's arms, then dragged him upright. Their compatriot, the one who had knocked Jim down in the first place, came to his feet again, a sneer on his face. He laughed, smacking one fist into the opposite palm, and made a few comments in German.

The two holding Jim laughed as well and gripped him all the more firmly as _Herr_ Sneer squared up and drew back a fist, ready to pound their captive.

Just as he did, Jim used the pair holding him as support to leap up and kick _Herr_ Sneer in the belly. And as he stumbled backwards, Jim leapt again, this time into a backwards somersault, breaking his captors' hold on him. His elbow whacked into the man on his right, then the same arm swung out and smashed into the chin of the guy on the left. With all five men reeling or floored, Jim sprinted for the window, threw up the sash, and tossed a leg over the sill.

Right, third floor window! Swiftly Jim reached into an inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small reel wound with several feet of sturdy wire that terminated in what looked like a plain metal rod. A hasty touch on the button at the end of the rod, however, caused a trio of spring-loaded arms to snap out into an effective little grappling hook. Quickly Jim tossed the hook up towards the roof.

Moments later Jim was on his way downward, holding firmly to the two handles of the reel as the wire spooled out smoothly, lowering him towards the ground. A few moments more and Jim would touch down, after which he planned to get out of sight immediately within a set of handy bushes.

Loud voices sounded from above as Jim's sparring buddies leaned out the window, sounding the alarm. The next moment bullets were raining down around him. Fortunately only two or three men could shoot through the window at the same time. Still, this was no way to spend the afternoon!

Jim let go of the reel to drop into the shrubbery below, then took off running out of sight around the closest corner.

"After him!" screamed the leader of the men in the room above. "After him! _Mach schnell!_ And alert _Herr_ _Baron!"_


	11. Act Three, Part Two

**Act Three, Part Two**

Ecstasy La Joie opened a ground floor window, peeked at the empty office within, then slipped inside. Soundlessly she crossed to the door and reached for the knob.

The door opened in her face even as a voice beyond it called, "Schwimmer, where are you, you imbecile? I need you to…" The voice stopped abruptly, and for a second the little thief stared, mouth agape, at the man framed in the doorway. Then…

" _You!"_ The cry sprang from both mouths. Dropping back half a step, the lithesome Miss La Joie fired a kick into the chin of the man before her.

He hit the floor bellowing out a flood of Teutonic oaths. Ecstasy kicked him once more in the side of the head for good measure, then fled through the doorway and out of sight.

Seething with anger, the victim of her fancy footwork yanked out a handkerchief and pressed it to his left ear. "Again with the kicking!" he growled. "Again with the ear! Schwimmer! _Schwimmer!_ Blast him, where is that idiot? Schwimmer, that _diabolische_ gir…!" _Herr_ Vogel clamped his mouth shut in mid-word, then muttered to himself, "No! No, we must capture her, Schwimmer and I, before the baron can learn that she is..."

At just that moment from somewhere upstairs came the unmistakable sound of gunfire. His Teutonic fury kindled anew, the Rumormeister snarled, " _Now_ what?" and lurched from the office.

…

" _Herr_ Vogel!"

Artie whirled as someone behind him called out that name. For a heart-stopping second he drew a blank, and then…

"Ah, Schwimmer! Here you are, my man. What is it?"

" _Mein Herr_ , I have the reports you requested." Schwimmer thrust a sheaf of papers into Artie's hand.

Reports? Artie peered at them, wondering what the paperwork was all about. And even as he read, Schwimmer added, "As you can see, our men who were keeping watch on _Fräulein_ La Joie's hotel room report no sign of the young woman. In addition our other men scattered throughout the city have found no trace of her either. She seems to have…"

From elsewhere on the ground floor, an all-too-familiar voice yelled out Schwimmer's name, followed moments later by the sound of gunfire blasting from somewhere above them.

Schwimmer, eyes round as saucers, stared in the direction of the first sound, then the second, then back at the man before him. "But, but… that was _Herr_ Vogel's voice! I swear to it! How could he call me from there when you are…" He blinked. "Your ear! You're not _Herr_ Vogel at all. _Impostor!"_ Schwimmer's hand darted for his sidearm.

With no idea what was wrong with his ear, Artie hollered, "Here!" and slammed the sheaf of papers full into Schwimmer's midsection. At the same moment he yanked out the little surprise that had been in and out of his pocket all day long and flung it to the floor at Schwimmer's feet.

 _WHUMP!_ The smoke bomb burst open, spewing out a cloud of saffron gas. As Schwimmer choked and fell to the floor unconscious, Artie, holding a handkerchief over his nose, made a quick choice as to which sound to investigate and rushed from the scene.

…

Oh, that infernal _Herr_ Vogel just _had_ to raise a stink, didn't he? And all Ecstasy had wanted was to make a private transaction with Baron Hinterstoisser without drawing the Rumormeister's attention! Well, the fat was in the fire now! The little thief raced headlong down a corridor and around a corner.

 _WHUMP!_ And ran smack into…

" _Herr_ Vogel!" Shocked but determined, she dropped back a step and let yet another kick fly.

"Ow!" Her latest victim hit the floor, and she aimed another boot to his left ear.

A hand grabbed her ankle, aborting the kick. She spun like a ballerina to face whoever was clutching her ankle. "You!"

Jim West smiled, still keeping a firm grasp on her leg. "Enemies forever," he said.

"What are you doing here? Let go of me!"

"We've been looking for you, Ecstasy. Me and ah…" He glanced at the man who sat on the floor beside them, slowly working his aching jaw. "Artie Gordon," Jim finished.

"Artie Gordon!" The kicked man scrambled to his feet and gaped at Jim. "Say, since when do you ever call me that, huh? Artie by itself, yes, or else the full name Artemus Gordon, but no one ever calls me 'Artie Gordon,' not since I was a kid! Of all people, James my boy, _you_ should know that!"

Jim grinned. "Exactly. I know it, but _Herr_ Vogel didn't."

" _Herr_ Vo… Hey, that's right, he's back! I'd better get out of this disguise." He reached up to yank off his fake goatee, but Jim forestalled him.

"Not yet, Artie. We might still need to fool some people on our way out."

"On your way…" Ecstasy cut in. "Now, wait a minute. You just let go of me this instant! I have business here in the embassy, and you have nothing to do with it!"

"Give it up, Ecstasy," said Jim. "We know you have the Florentine Phoenix."

"We do?" exclaimed Artie. "Oh, so that's why Schwimmer…" Pulling himself up straight, Artie said confidently, "Right, we do! So just hand it over, little lady." He held out a hand.

"Hand over what?" came a Teutonic voice as around the corner behind them poured a swarm of green-clad guards. And right in the midst of them was Baron Hinterstoisser himself.

…

He had waited long enough, thought the little man in the greatcoat. Where could the larcenous Miss La Joie be? Had she perhaps slipped out of the embassy grounds by some other point of egress while he was watching this side? With a frown, Mr Memphis clambered to his feet, peeked over the wall on tiptoes, then set off skulking toward the back gate, castigating himself for having let the wily young woman out of his sight in the first place.

…

"Well, well! Here we have _Herr_ West once more!" Baron Hinterstoisser gloated. "And another intruder as well. Good work, Vogel! But why, ah… why is _Herr_ West holding this young man by the ankle, hmm?"

"I'm not a youn…" Ecstasy blurted, only to find Jim's grip on her had shifted in a heartbeat from her ankle to her forearm. "Run!" he hissed, and took off, dragging her behind him.

"Halt!" cried Artie. He planted himself in the middle of the hall — conveniently blocking the baron and guards behind him — as he drew his own sidearm, took careful aim, and fired.

He missed, of course, as Jim and the girl disappeared round the corner.

"After them!" bellowed the baron. "And when you have captured them, bring them to my office and send word to me. I shall be in my chambers!" Angrily he spun on his heel and marched away, even as his guards streamed past him in pursuit of the fugitives.

With the supposed Vogel leading their way.

…

Little Mr Memphis crept quietly towards the back gate. Stealthily he hazarded another peek over the wall and spotted a lone guardsman standing just within the gate. From his pocket Memphis drew forth his knife and weighed it in his hand, then shook his head. No, he did not want to throw it and leave himself weaponless. Hmm…

Moments later a small sound from somewhere within the embassy grounds caught the guard's attention and he turned, drawing his revolver. The next moment a good-sized rock crashed down on his head and sent him sprawling, his gun flying from his hand.

Memphis grinned as he quickly closed the gate again. Why throw a knife when a pebble would do just as well? Swiftly he went to one knee to check the guard. Excellent, the man was out cold. Memphis scuttled a few feet away and bent down once more, this time scooping something up off the ground and storing it in his overcoat pocket. Ah, luck was with him! Not only had he not thrown away his sole weapon, he had now gained another and was doubly armed!

Memphis hurried across the embassy lawn to the building's back door, wondering at the noises he could hear from within. It sounded like a small army on the run! And… and was that a shot?

…

"Let go of me!" cried Ecstasy La Joie.

"Not on your life," Jim replied. On he ran, hauling her round one corner, then another, then…

He stopped so suddenly she smacked into his back. There in the corridor ahead of them was a familiar figure holding a handkerchief to his left ear.

For a long second the three stood looking at each other as the sounds of pursuit grew louder. Then the man in the green uniform said, "Quick, Jim! This way!" He waved them towards a tall mirror hanging on the wall, which he then swung out on hinges to reveal a narrow passageway beyond it leading off into darkness.

Jim eyed the clandestine nook, then smiled broadly. "Thanks, Artie! I know I can always count on you!" He gripped the girl's arm and steered her towards the opening.

Ecstasy gaped at him. "But, but Jim! That can't possibly be…"

"…our way out of this hall before the men after us can catch us? Sure it can!" He stepped through the opening, pulling her with him.

"I don't mean that! I mean if Mr Gordon was just behind us, then this man has to be…"

"…absolutely full of surprises? Yep, that's Artie Gordon for you!" Jim smiled at their rescuer and squeezed Ecstasy's arm.

"Artie Gor… Oh!" This time when Jim started off into the darkness, the girl came along with no further argument.

Quickly Artie — if it was Artie — stepped into the passage and shut the mirror behind them, just as Vogel — if it was Vogel — along with the guards came thundering round the corner and raced on past the mirror.


	12. Act Three, Part Three

**Act Three, Part Three**

Luck was still with him! Mr Memphis had found the kitchen absolutely empty and was now slipping along a corridor deep in the heart of the embassy. The running feet, whatever that was about, sounded very far away, and he had seen nothing to explain the gunshot…

Oh! But as he turned a corner, he spotted the alarming sight of a man sprawled across the floor in the midst of a snowdrift of scattered papers, either unconscious or dead.

Memphis crept forward; was this the result of the gunshot? He knelt and took a closer look.

Well… No blood…

No, this man was simply out cold. Smiling, Memphis deftly relieved the man of his sidearm and tucked it into his pocket with the other. Three weapons now! "Yes, this is definitely my lucky day!" he burbled joyously.

He scurried on, a very happy man.

…

Artie's mind was racing faster than his feet. He had to come up with some way to ditch the baron's toy soldiers, preferably before they all caught up with Jim and the girl! And for that matter, where _were_ Jim and the girl? He and the pursuing guards had gone chasing nearly halfway round the embassy now; shouldn't they have found their quarry already?

…

"Ow…" Schwimmer sat up, his head swimming. What had hit him? He cradled his aching head in his hands for a moment, rooting through the fog in his brain to recover the trail of what he'd been doing before unconsciousness had overcome him. He had been…

He looked around and spotted the scattered papers on the floor beside him. Yes, he had been speaking with _Herr_ Vogel, showing him these reports about…

 _Ach, ja_ , about that slippery little thief, _Fräulein_ La Joie! Only… only there had been something wrong, something disturbing. What was it?

 _Ach_ , his brain! He could not think! Well… surely the thing he needed to do right away would be to find _Herr_ Vogel, _ja?_ With some difficulty he got his feet under him, then, using the wall for support, he managed to get upright, then got his bearings.

And as he shuffled off, swaying, to look for the Rumormeister, he could not shake the feeling that there was still some recollection of importance that had as yet eluded him. If only he knew what it was!

…

 _Round and round the embassy halls the monkey chased the weasel_ , sang a little chant in Artie's head. He gave his head a shake to rid himself of it; the role of monkey which the song had assigned to him pleased him not a bit, nor was he happy at Jim being the weasel.

Well… maybe Miss La Joie could be the weasel! Not that weasels were usually that pretty, of course…

But where were either of them? He and his following of embassy guards had left the back corridors behind them now and were briskly canvassing the opulent front rooms. Surely it would not be long before they completely ran out of places to search here on the ground floor. Artie really didn't want to have to continue this charade on the upper floors as well!

And for that matter, he hadn't yet come up with a plan to give these green-liveried jokers the shake.

From somewhere beyond the foyer ahead of them came a shout of "Halt, trespasser!" And with a cheer that their quarry was at last within reach, the guards surged off in that direction, Artie barely staying in the lead.

…

Mr Memphis cringed, wishing he had tied up that unconscious man he'd left in the hallway! But no, he hadn't — primarily from a lack of rope — and now here was the annoying fool, making noise and attracting attention!

"Halt, trespasser!" Schwimmer ordered once more, doing his best to loom menacingly over the little stranger in the huge overcoat whom he had just discovered in the room under the foyer stairs. "You are under arrest!" he added, and reached for his sidearm.

It wasn't there! For a split second his still-foggy brain refused to process this new information.

Ah, surely luck was still with Bartholomew Memphis! In that instant of his captor's bewilderment, the little man set out to produce from his pocket one of the two guns he had so recently acquired. But now he found that he should not have stored both guns in a single pocket; somehow they were tangling together so that neither could be drawn.

Worse, as he fought with the pocket to drag at least one weapon out, he heard a rumble of many feet come surging up from the doorway behind him. Mr Memphis spun to see a troop of uniformed men, all of them armed, flood into the room. And at their head was someone he had last seen only the week before in San Francisco!

"Merle Koch!" Memphis whimpered. Letting the gun drop back into his pocket, he whirled and scurried off as fast as he could go — and in passing by the still befuddled Schwimmer, he grabbed the man's arm and sent him reeling towards the troop of men.

Artie had no time to wonder how Bartholomew Memphis had come to join today's merry chase for the Florentine Phoenix. No, he had suddenly found his chance to lose the guards! As Schwimmer was thrown towards Artie and the others like a bowling ball, Artie set himself to emulate a tenpin.

And… _strike!_ Artie made his best show of being clobbered while actually avoiding any real contact with the flung man. He flopped to the floor and came up groaning, clutching at his knee.

" _Mein Herr!"_ cried one of the guards, bending over Artie.

" _Nein, nein_ , do not worry about me!" Artie ordered. "Get after him! Capture that man! What, do _die Amerikaner_ imagine that we are holding an open house today? After him!"

" _Jawohl, mein Herr_!" cried the men and charged through the far doorway into the room beyond in hot pursuit of little Mr Memphis.

Whew! That left Artie in the company of only one man anymore, and Schwimmer was out for the count again. "Artemus my boy, you're free as a bird now," he murmured to himself. "And now to figure out what's become of Jim and the charming Miss La Joie."

Artie came to his feet, and with not so much as a limp he set off to return to the spot where he'd last seen his partner and the girl. Maybe this time he'd find them!

…

"Are we there yet — wherever we're going, that is?" complained Miss La Joie.

"Not much farther," said their guide. He strode before them, bearing a small lantern that had been conveniently stored just within the secret hallway. The light it shed was meager, but he seemed to know the way very well.

Ecstasy glanced up at Jim, who was still maintaining that firm grip on her forearm, and with a frown she jerked her head in their guide's direction, her eyebrows asking him a slew of silent questions.

"Like he said, not much farther," Jim said easily. "I'm sure Artie knows what he's doing. I always trust my partner."

The girl glared and hissed, "But he isn't… Ow!"

For Jim had squeezed her arm again. Very quietly, he murmured, "Just be ready for anything. And don't worry — I won't interfere with your aim next time."

"My _aim?"_ She scowled that question at him too, but only for a second. Then all questions vanished from her face, and as she gazed at the back of the supposed Mr Gordon leading them onward in the dark, a little smirk began to play over her lips.

In a whisper intended for Jim's ears only, she added, "Ah. Well, it's always nice to have something to look forward to!"

…

"Oh, I never should have gloated aloud about this being my lucky day!" Mr Memphis whimpered as he ran for all he was worth down one corridor after another. At least he had a good idea of where he was going. And it wouldn't be much farther now. He sprinted round a corner and down a final length of hallway, then grabbed a doorknob and barreled through the door, throwing it shut behind him. Seeing a green worktable just to the side of the door, he hastened to drag it over and shove it across the doorway to block his pursuers — or at least slow them down. He then whirled to head for the exit.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" barked a sudden voice.

Memphis jumped a mile, nearly losing his balance as he landed. "Leaving!" he cried to the bulldog-faced woman standing here in the kitchen, arms akimbo, and one meaty fist gripping a very large carving knife.

At that moment a tremendous crash reverberated through the cramped kitchen as the guards figured out where their quarry had gone to earth and began energetically battering at the door. With a squeak like a cornered mouse, Mr Memphis yanked the outside door open and ran for his life, scuttling across the embassy's back garden, out the gate, and as far away as his stumpy little legs would carry him.

…

"Where the blazes are Jim and that girl?" Artie muttered to himself irascibly. He was beginning to think the very walls of this blasted embassy had opened up and swallowed them! At least he wouldn't have Schwimmer to deal with again any time soon — he hoped. For that matter, it was a definite blessing not to have that swarm of guards dogging his steps anymore. It did cross his mind to wonder, however, how Mr Memphis was getting along with the men he'd sicced on him. The sounds of that pursuit were no longer audible, not in this wing of the embassy.

Artie turned a corner and spotted a little souvenir of a previous time he'd passed this way: the bullet hole he'd put in the wall while deliberately missing his fleeing partner. Yep, he'd come full circle!

Well, this go-round he could take his time and look for the signs of Jim's passage a bit more carefully. He continued on, keeping his eyes peeled for anything that might show where Jim was, as well as any hints that anyone from the embassy was anywhere close by.

As he was checking a hall a couple of turns later, he happened to spy himself in a full-length mirror — and he winced. " _Vuussh_ , but I'm a sight to behold!" he grumbled. "I'm gonna be one massive bruise in the morning, that's for sure." He leaned closer. "And that girl didn't do me any favors, kicking me in the chops like that! At least she didn't knock the fake whiskers off." He leaned still closer and rested his hand on the mirror's frame as he inspected his still-aching chin.

 _Click._

Much to his surprise, the mirror detached itself from the wall along one side, gaping ajar by about half an inch. Artie stared at it for a second, then swung the secret door open wide. "And here I was kidding about the embassy walls swallowing up anyone!" he muttered. "Well… let's see where this takes me." He ventured inside the hidden passageway, closed the mirror behind him, pulled out a candle and match from one of his pockets, and once he was thus supplied with light, he set off exploring.

…

"Are we there _yet?"_ groused Ecstasy. "We must have hiked a mile by now!"

"We will get there when we get there!" the guide retorted sharply, his genial goofy American accent beginning to slip badly.

Jim, having been keeping track of the twists and turns this clandestine passage had been making as it meandered around the edges of the real rooms and corridors, now leading them upstairs, now down again, had a sneaking suspicion where they were going to wind up.

His suspicion was shortly proven correct. Abruptly the man they'd been following extinguished his lantern. Then, with a grand gesture, he pressed a latch and flung open a narrow door. "We are here! Everybody out." He grabbed the girl and hauled her out of the darkness, with Jim following close behind.

They were standing in a well-appointed office on the ground floor of the embassy. No one else was currently present, but the huge portrait of the Emperor taking up a great swath of wall behind the opulent desk was an excellent clue as to whom they might expect would walk in at any time.

"Artie!" said Jim. "Why did you bring us to Hinterstoisser's office?"

The man he had just called by his partner's name swung to face him, a proud sneer upon his face, his sidearm in his hand. "Because I am not Artie, _Herr_ West! I am in fact the authentic _Herr_ Vogel. And I have fooled you completely!"

Jim gave an amazed shake of his head. "Imagine that! I never would have guessed." He turned to Ecstasy, who was now standing a few feet away from both men. "What about you, Ecstasy? Did you have any clue this wasn't Artie?"

"None whatsoever," she said with a straight face. And then she kicked _Herr_ Vogel square in the chin again.


	13. Act Three, Part Four

**Act Three, Part Four**

Baron Hinterstoisser dipped his pen into the inkwell, wrote a few words of the letter he was composing, tapped the shaft of the quill pen against his chin, then ruthlessly struck a line of ink across what he had written, threw down the pen, wadded up the paper, and tossed it aside. "Bah, this is no good! What is keeping those _Dummköpfe?_ Why has no one come to report to me the capture of the fugitives?" He rose from his chair, straighten the hem of his tunic, and stormed from his chambers to go find out what was going on.

…

Somewhere there were voices, very far away, saying curious things, such as, "I've never seen _Frau_ Hilda that angry before! Do you think she'll still feed us?" and "You think _she_ was mad! Wait until the baron learns we lost that little mousy intruder!" and "Did the baron even know about the mousy intruder? We could just simply, well… not tell him…"

And finally, closest of all, " _Ach_ , Schwimmer! Here you are! Are you all right?"

Hands grabbed him, lifted him, carried him. Deposited him on a sofa in one of the front rooms. Probed the bump on his head and proclaimed it hardly anything. "You'll be fine in no time!" someone asserted cheerfully.

" _Ja?"_ Schwimmer growled in return. "I should like to trade heads with you and see how fine you feel!"

Yet more sound assailed poor Schwimmer: the heavy tread of angry feet, followed by a too-familiar voice railing, "So here are the embassy's finest guardsmen, loitering all around a sofa — and with one of you upon it! Yet where are the fugitives, hmm?" Baron Hinterstoisser glared at his men. "You have found them, _ja?"_

No answer.

Fire lit the baron's eyes. "I see! My orders have not been carried out, but that is no matter. My men, they have plenty of time to loll about, passing the time of day, _nicht wahr?_ Perhaps you would like me to report to our Emperor how well you complete your assignments, hmm?"

The men stood frozen in silence.

" _Ja_ , this is what I thought!" snarled the baron. "Now, back to work! And you, Schwimmer, go at once and fetch me _Herr_ Vogel. I certainly hope that he, at least, is still on the trail of _Herr_ West and that other intruder, whoever he was!"

Other intruder? Schwimmer racked his brains (albeit gently) and hazarded a guess of, " _Herr_ Gordon is here?"

" _Nein!_ Of course that was not Artemus Gordon; the young fellow West ran off with was much too small to be Gordon. That is to say, _ja_ , the man has an excellent reputation as a master of disguise, but even he cannot create the illusion of being only half his size! At any rate, go and fetch _Herr_ Vogel to me at once." And when Schwimmer was a touch slow levering himself up off the sofa, the baron barked, "At once! _Mach schnell!"_

" _Jawohl, Herr Baron_ ," murmured the hapless Schwimmer, and stumbled off to obey. Where exactly he should go, he had no idea.

No, that was not quite right. He did have an inkling of an idea: anywhere that was far, far away from Baron Hinterstoisser!

With a nod of satisfaction that the men were obeying their orders, the baron turned on his heel, crossed the foyer, turned the knob of his office door, and strode inside.

 _CLONK!_ Right into the path of his prized signed volume of _Faust_ by the immortal Goethe!

The flood of Teutonic imprecations which then scorched the air mustered every guardsman within earshot to rush to the baron's aid. And what a sight they saw as they crowded round the office door!

The room was a shambles, every stick of furniture overturned if not broken, books and knickknacks and potted plants scattered lavishly across the fine oriental rug upon the floor, which was for its part bunched up in ripples like the swelling of the sea. And in the midst of it all, grappling with each other tooth and nail, were _Herr_ Vogel and James West.

" _Was ist los?"_ bellowed Hinterstoisser, pressing a linen handkerchief to his forehead where he had encountered Goethe's masterwork. "Vogel! What is the meaning of all this?"

"He seems to be following your orders, _Herr Baron_ ," murmured Schwimmer, having appeared at the baron's side. "He is seeking to apprehend _Herr_ West."

The baron cast a glower at the Rumormeister's chief aide. " _Ja, ja,_ no doubt, no doubt. But must he destroy my entire office in the process? And who is that?"

For a slight figure had just popped up from behind the capsized desk, the baron's humidor in hand, and flung the item squarely at _Herr_ Vogel, smacking him in the shoulder. West took advantage of the distraction to seize Vogel with one hand and box him on the ear with the other. The left ear, of course.

Schwimmer's eyes nearly started from his head. _Fräulein_ La Joie! She was dressed as a young man, to be sure, but unmistakably this was the same vixen who had been vexing _Herr_ Vogel all day. With a strangled cry, Schwimmer bolted into the room and raced for the girl.

As if that had been a signal, several of the guardsmen charged in as well to come to _Herr_ Vogel's aid. No less than four of them tackled West and did their best to pin him to the floor, even as two more took hold of Vogel and tried to retire him from the battle.

"Release me!" growled Vogel. "Get out of my way! That man is mine!" His ear bleeding freely, he struggled to break loose and go after West again, his eyes locked on the pile of men burying his sworn enemy.

Only… where was West? The men sat back in confusion, unable to spot their foe.

Vogel, as perplexed as the rest, whirled to his left to scan for the missing West, then to his right.

 _POW!_ The left hook notified Vogel that West was no longer missing. With a cry of near elation, Vogel matched the blow with an uppercut of his own.

Meanwhile, Schwimmer was wondering if, for his part, he had rushed in where angels feared to tread. _Fräulein_ La Joie was assuredly a mere slip of a girl, it was true, but _Himmel!_ she was indeed a wildcat! He had wrapped an arm round her trim little waist and was trying valiantly to hang on to her, but she was not about to make that easy for him.

And then she gave him a slap on the face that for some odd reason seemed to include the sting of a wasp. Schwimmer's head, not in the best of conditions already, began swimming anew. And then he was out.

Ecstasy looked around, spotted the hated Vogel again, and grabbed yet another book to heave his way. Just at that moment, though, she glimpsed a movement out of the corner of her eye. The hidden doorway, the one through which _Herr_ Vogel had led her and Jim into this office, had popped open again, disgorging a familiar figure in dark green with a sinister goatee upon his chin. She blinked.

The baron did more than that. His jaw dropped, his eyes bulging at the sight of his Rumormeister in duplicate. " _Was ist los?"_ Hinterstoisser bellowed. " _Ein Doppelgänger?_ As if one of him has not been too much this day! _Ach, du lieber Augustin,_ what on Earth is happening here?"

Ecstasy glanced at the door to see the man she had beaned with that book literally tearing at his hair. Then, his eye falling upon her, he pointed her way and ordered, "And that one! After that boy, men! Take him at once!"

"Oh, wonderful!" muttered Ecstasy. "What a way to conduct a little business transaction!" She dove down behind the desk and grabbed a pen stand from among the little cache of ad hoc ammunition she had assembled to launch at her would-be captors.

"Ecstasy, quick!" came a voice from just above her. She looked up and saw…

"Oh no, you don't, _Herr_ Vogel!" She clobbered him with the pen stand as he tried to take hold of her arm.

"Ow! Hey! Cut that out! C'mon, I'm just trying to get you out of here!" he yelped.

"Yeah, like I'm going to believe that, Vogel!" she retorted and fired the remainder of a lamp at him.

He ducked just in time. "No, listen, Ecstasy! I'm not Vogel."

"Ha!" She was readying her next missile.

"No, really, look! See? Check the ear!" He pointed, and she hesitated.

Then she nodded. "All right, I don't suppose you could fake that. I guess you really are Mr Gordon. Temporary truce then."

Artie grinned and caught her hand, yanking her to her feet and whirling her towards the secret door. "You can get out that way and…" He froze, his words breaking off as they both saw a handful of the guards rushing their way, blocking them off from that route of escape.

"Or not," said Artie. He looked around quickly, then shoved the girl back behind the desk again. "Here, this way!" He grabbed the portrait of the Emperor, flung it aside, and threw open the little door in the niche behind the painting. "In you go!"

She gaped. "I'm not getting it that thing!"

"Why not? It's a dumbwaiter. Use the ropes to haul yourself up to wherever it comes out, and then clear out of here!"

"But I have business with Baron Hinterstoi…!"

"No time to argue!" Artie lifted her bodily and tucked her into the waiting car — she fit inside as if it had been made for her — then closed the door and gave it a couple of pats. "Go!"

Artie shoved the painting back into place to cover the girl's egress, then turned around.

Just in time to get a sock on the jaw from one of the guards. Rattled but not out, Artie waded into the battle to join his best friend.

 **End of Act Three**


	14. Act Four, Part One

**Act Four, Part One**

"Well, James my boy, I must say, that was some battle!"

"I don't think you and I are going to be at the top of Baron Hinterstoisser's Christmas list, do you?"

"After the way we — or, truth to tell, mostly you — destroyed his office? Not hardly!"

"Oh, it wasn't a one-man effort. I had help."

Artie snickered. "And plenty of it! How many guardsmen were there, anyway?"

"I lost count," said Jim, deadpan.

"Well, all I can say is that the amount of damage that was inflicted upon that office was…" He paused, choosing his word. "…impressive. Definitely impressive."

"Yeah, well, Vogel made a few impressions on me, you know." Jim stroked his jaw, which was already beginning to show signs of turning purple.

"Not nearly as many as you made on him! And then there was the baron himself."

"Oh now, _him_ I didn't touch."

"Really? But I didn't either. So how'd he get that beautiful knot on the forehead?"

Jim smirked. "That was pure Ecstasy. She pulled what you might call a Nina Gilbert." He cast a teasing glance Artie's way.

"What, you mean a book to the ol' noggin?"

"Yep — and not exactly light reading, either."

"Oh, ha ha," Artie fake-laughed. "Which puts me in the odd position of feeling sorry for the baron. After all, I like books, but definitely _not_ as munitions!"

They strolled along the street in silence for a bit, then Jim gave a sigh. "Well, Artie, I hate to bring this up considering how gallant it was for you to rescue Ecstasy out of the midst of danger like that — but now we have to go track her down all over again and retrieve the Phoenix from her."

"Hmm, there is that," Artie nodded.

And then, with a flourish, he produced a small black pouch from somewhere within his deep green tunic, handed it to Jim, and added, "Or not."

Jim stared at the hefty little item Artie had just deposited in his hand, then eyed his partner. "Artie, if this is what I hope it is, you have just earned that title of Federal Miracle Worker — in spades! How'd you get this?"

Artie smiled with as much modesty as he could muster. "Aw, when I lifted the girl up to tuck her into the dumbwaiter, I just, er… _lifted_ this as well."

Jim's face broke into a broad grin. "Let's get this over to the Smithsonian right away!"

Only to have Artie stop him with an uplifted hand. "Ah… Suppose we might have a look at it first to make sure it's not the music box version again from this morning?"

"Good idea," said Jim. Finding a quiet spot where they wouldn't be observed, they wound up the Florentine Phoenix and put it to the test.

…

"Vogel, I am not happy with the results of this day's endeavors — not at all!" Baron Hinterstoisser surveyed the wreckage of his office, a muscle in his cheek twitching with fury.

Vogel took a deep breath and, barely checking his own fury, replied with, " _Jawohl, Herr_ _Baron."_

"And on top of everything else you have bungled today, I come to find out that you failed to capture that thieving girl. Repeatedly!" He pounded what was left of his desk.

Again curbing his temper, Vogel said merely, " _Jawohl, Herr_ _Baron."_

"This will not do! You must redeem yourself. Go and find her. Find her at once! Retrieve the Phoenix from her!"

" _Jawohl, Herr_ _Baron,"_ Vogel said once more and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Vogel…"

" _Ja, Herr_ _Baron?"_

Hinterstoisser gingerly touched the knot on his forehead where the book had conked him. "When you do find her and the Phoenix is at last in our possession…" He paused and a evil smirk spread across his face. "Do be sure to repay her in full for all the trouble she has caused us."

Vogel too smirked. "I assure you, _Herr Baron_ , she will never be of further trouble to us again. Nor to anyone else."

" _Exzellent_! _Wundervoll!_ That is precisely what I wish to hear. You did not eliminate _Herr_ West as I had hoped, nor did you put an end to his partner _Herr_ Gordon — and for all I know, you did not even take care of that fool of a cabbie! — but surely you can dispose of one annoying little _Fräulein!"_

Vogel bowed with a click of his heels and turned to exit this localized disaster zone, only to spin back again with an exclamation of "Cabbie? _Entschuldigung Sie bitte, Herr Baron,_ but… _what_ cabbie?"

At this point a certain petite eavesdropper took advantage of the renewed debate between the two men to make her getaway, confident that their sharp words would drown out the slight squeaking of the pulleys as the dumbwaiter ascended to the second floor.

"Well!" Ecstasy murmured to herself. "And here I came back to finish up my business with Baron Hinterstoisser, only to hear him signing my death warrant! See if I ever try to make a deal with any Germans ever again!" She decanted herself from the little wooden car into the room one floor above the office, then slipped out onto the balcony, dropped lightly over the railing to the ground below, and disappeared into the gathering darkness.

What with all the recent commotion, she hadn't yet noticed that was something was missing, and indeed had been missing ever since Mr Gordon had last given her a hand.

…

"And back to where we began," said Artie as he and Jim alighted from a carriage, paid the cabbie, and headed for the Smithsonian to return the Phoenix. As they strode up to the entrance, however, they exchanged puzzled glances. For voices were echoing from the open front doors of the museum, and not happy voices either.

"You will produce the Phoenix at once, Mr… what is your name? Madison?" demanded a deep male voice with a heavy Eastern European accent.

"Yes," added a woman's voice with a matching accent, "and you shall produce the curator as well! How insulting to the Bosnian ambassador, that the curator does not even deign to show himself in person!"

"I told you already: Dr Ames isn't here. He was, er, taken sick. Early this morning. He's at home convalescing and can't possibly rise from his sickbed!"

The two Secret Service agents exchanged glances again. "Uh-oh," said Artie. "Looks like part of your promise to the president has fallen through. The Bosnians are onto us!"

"Isn't that Countess Zorana's voice?" said Jim.

"Oh, you recognized her too! Yeah, that's her, all right. Yet another of the merry crew from San Francisco! Say, you don't suppose she had a hand in little Miss La Joie's swiping of the Phoenix overnight, do you?"

"Only to have Ecstasy decide the Germans might pay better? Yeah, that's possible. In the meantime, you and I have some work to do. C'mon!" They slipped away from the front entrance to scout for a more clandestine way inside.

They were not, however, the only ones lurking around the side of the Smithsonian. As Jim picked the lock of a back door, a soft and familiar voice with a nervous giggle spoke up. "Ah, just the gentlemen I might have expected to run into! I've crossed paths with most of my other — heh! — old friends from San Francisco today. Why not you as well?"

Jim and Artie turned to see a little man in a huge greatcoat standing behind them and carefully drawing a gun out of his coat pocket. It took a while for him to get the entire barrel free of the pocket, the gun being roughly half as big as he was. But then, with a friendly smile, he pointed the gun at the Secret Service agents. "Surely you remember me," he said.

"Why, Bartholomew Memphis," exclaimed Artie, raising his hands. "How could we forget?"

"The man with the mice," added Jim, his hands also raised.

"Shut up!" snarled Memphis. "I do not wish to hear about the mice — not ever again!"

"No?" said Artie. "The fact that you bought fake antiquities and tried to smuggle them into the United States — that somehow embarrasses you? My, my!" He gave a sad shake of his head.

"I said, 'shut up!' " the little man snapped. "Do not try my patience! I have just spent a very long day in search of a very special item, and the fact that the two of you are here at the Smithsonian trying to sneak inside informs me that you no doubt have the very article I've been looking for." He held out the hand that wasn't clutching the small-scale cannon. "Hand it over," he ordered.

Jim and Artie shot each other a glance. "Hand what over?" said Artie.

"Do not presume that I am a fool, Mr Gordon!" said Memphis. "Obviously you have come here to return the Florentine Phoenix. But that is _my_ job! _I_ want to be the one who gives it back, not you!"

"Aha!" said Artie. "So that you can be the hero, is that it?"

"And get your career at the museum back," added Jim.

"That is the general idea, yes. So hand it over. Now!" Memphis flourished the gun.

"Oh, he sounds serious, Jim."

"Yeah, I think he really means it, Artie."

"So — we give it to him?"

"We could do that."

"We could indeed," said Artie. Pulling something from his pocket, he called out, "Here, catch!" and tossed it in a high arc.

"What? No!" cried their little adversary. In a panic lest the beautiful artifact fall to the ground and be destroyed, Memphis dropped the gun and made a hasty grab for whatever Mr Gordon had thrown his way.

He snagged it gingerly with cupped hands, only to discover that it was certainly too small to be the Phoenix. Round, yes, but not gold, and not even a quarter the size of the ovoid treasure — although, truth be told, it _was_ the correct shape. It was in fact, Mr Memphis realized…

"An _egg?"_ the little man protested. He looked up from it to glare at Gordon.

Only to find that West was suddenly in his face. Or to be more accurate, his fist was.

Jim and Artie tugged the unconscious little man under some bushes, making sure to confiscate all his weapons from him.

"Well," quipped Artie, "the yolk's on him!"

"No kidding," Jim agreed, "but… an egg? Where did that come from?"

Artie shrugged. "Aw, I nicked it from the embassy kitchen the last time I was in it." And at Jim's disbelieving stare, he added, "Hey, you never know when an egg's gonna come in handy!"

"…Right…" said Jim with a roll of his eyes. "Well, now that Memphis is taken care of, we've still got more work to do, you know."

"Mm," Artie agreed. "Sounds like Dr Ames is nowhere to be found, so I'll see to that angle."

Jim reached into an inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small black pouch. "And I'll take care of this part."

"Fine. How long should I stall 'em?"

"As long as you can. See you shortly."

"Ok, Jim. Just as long as the Bosnians don't see _you!"_


	15. Act Four, Part Two

**Act Four, Part Two**

Madison was beginning to wish heartily that he'd never heard of the Florentine Phoenix — or, perhaps more accurately, had never heard of the Bosnian ambassador. Mindful of Dr Ames' injunction to let no one into the iron-barred room, Madison was doing his level best to keep the ambassador and his companion the countess here in the foyer of the museum, preferably without needing to call the night watchman on them.

"I'm so very sorry," he apologized for possibly the fourteenth time, "but I have no authority to permit anyone into the Phoenix room. Only Dr Ames can do that, and as I have told you repeatedly, he isn't here!"

"Who isn't here?" came a voice from behind him.

Madison whirled and gaped. "Why… Dr Ames! I didn't expect… What are you doing here? Are you… I mean, have you recovered?"

"Just a touch of hay fever, my good man," said the familiar figure of a mousy bespectacled man with a hint of gray at the temples. Ames shambled down the hallway and into the foyer, then greeted the visitors. "Good evening, Mr Ambassador, Countess Zorana. I apologize that I wasn't here to welcome you when you first, uh, first arrived. I've been, well, a bit under the weather today. But how may I be of service, hmm?"

The ambassador all but shoved Madison out of his way. "You will take us at once to see the Florentine Phoenix!" he demanded.

"Florentine… Oh, but my dear sir, that exhibit won't be open to the public for another… How many days, Madison?"

"Er…" Madison stammered. "W-well, we, ah… we had planned to open in three days' time, but there's been a…"

"Three days' time. Thank you, Madison," said the curator. "So if you and this lovely lady will come back at that time…" Ames spread his arms to herd the Bosnians out the door.

The countess refused to budge. "What do you think we are, peasants? We are hardly members of the general public! We _own_ the Phoenix, and demand to see it at once!"

"At once!" echoed the ambassador.

Dr Ames peeked over the tops of his glasses at the countess. " _Own_ it, do you? Is that how you see it?"

"As the duly appointed representative of the government of Bosnia to the United States," seethed the ambassador, "I may be said to be owner of that national treasure by proxy, yes!"

"So show it to us!" Zorana commanded.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Ames dithered, "this is highly irregular, highly! The Smithsonian doesn't make a habit of just… just letting people in willy-nilly at any hour of the night…"

With a cold glare, the ambassador growled, "Then I shall complain at once to your president, Mr Curator. And we shall see how long you keep your position once he is involved. Or is it part of your job description to provoke an international incident, hmm?"

Ames pulled out a pocket watch and consulted it. "Oh, very well, very well. Madison, fetch the keys."

Madison gaped. "But, but, sir!" he hissed.

"Something wrong?" asked Ames.

Drawing the curator off to one side, Madison whispered, "But you told me yourself to let no one into that room!"

"Actually," said the man who looked like Dr Ames, "I wasn't the one who told you that." He pulled off the glasses and shot the secretary a wink.

Madison gasped. "Mr Gordon?"

"In the flesh. I stopped off in the curator's office and borrowed his spare jacket from his office, along with a pair of his glasses."

"But the Phoenix was, er…" Madison shot a glance at the steaming pair of Bosnians. "That is, it's not, uh…"

"No problem, Mr Madison. Everything is well in hand." And as the secretary started to protest further, Artie added, "Just trust me; you won't be disappointed."

Madison sighed. "Very well. I'll, ah, get the keys."

As the little group marched along the corridors of the museum heading for the Phoenix' display room, a soft sound caught Artie's attention. He gave a surreptitious glance around, his gaze landing on a lacquered cabinet off to his right. "I'll be along shortly," he said to Madison, then paused by the cabinet, pulled out a handkerchief, and made a big show of polishing his glasses.

"Anything wrong, Jim?" Artie murmured.

"Something came up," answered his partner from within the cabinet. "Here."

The cabinet door eased open and Jim's hand emerged, holding a certain small black pouch. Artie took it, folded his handkerchief around it, and slipped it into his pocket, then strode off to catch up with the others.

"Here we are then!" said Artie as the group reached the iron bars across the doorway. "The keys, Mr Madison?"

His face still bearing signs of worry, the secretary passed over the keys. Artie chose the largest key on the ring and was about to insert it into the lock when he realized that the bars were already unlocked. He blinked.

Then, pasting on a smile, he proceeded to feign unlocking the bars and followed that up with pretending to unlock the interior doors as well. He took a peek into the room for himself first before flinging the doors wide.

Everything looked fine; nothing seemed out of order. So why were the doors unlocked and yet Jim still hadn't replaced the little treasure?

"Here is the display stand for the Phoenix," said Artie as Dr Ames. "Let me, er…" He stepped up to the cloth-draped pedestal, made a brief search, then found the switch and flipped it. "There! That's the security system deactivated. Now we may safely…" Cautiously he lifted a corner of the cloth. Ah, good! The fake Phoenix was still ensconced within it. Artie snatched the cloth off and waved a hand at the glimmering golden egg. "As you can see," he informed the ambassador and the countess, "here it is!"

The pair consulted together briefly, then Zorana announced coldly, "We see what looks like the Phoenix, but I was given to understand that someone constructed a fabulous fake of it. We demand to examine the Phoenix and ascertain its authenticity!"

"Oh, you would!" muttered Artie. Finding the appropriate key from among the ones with which Madison had provided him, the spurious curator touched the small panel on the pedestal which slid aside to expose the keyhole, then unlocked the glass case. He lifted off the case, laid it gently on the floor by the foot of the pedestal, then suddenly gripped the edge of the pedestal, his face working.

"Ah… ah… ah… ah- _choo!"_ he erupted, just barely turning his face away to avoid sneezing all over the Phoenix. He fumbled at his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, sniffling mightily.

"I… I'm terribly sorry, Mr Ambassador, Countess. I really should not have come back out to the Smithsonian just yet. But here, you may examine the Phoenix. Madison, the gloves, please?"

Mr Madison hurried forward with some white linen gloves which he proffered to the ambassador. With a glance of disgust at the curator, who was just tucking his handkerchief away in a pocket again, the ambassador accepted the gloves and shortly the Phoenix as well, which he then proceeded to wind up.

It was only a matter of minutes later that the ambassador shook the supposed Dr Ames by the hand, apologizing profusely. He then caught Countess Zorana's arm, hissing, "We shall deal with you back at the embassy!" and steered her from the room. Artie and Madison could hear the pair of them bickering heatedly as the ambassador led her away.

"Well, and that's that! Lock up again, will you, Madison?"

"Yes sir, Mr Gordon!" He replaced the glass case over the Phoenix and set about to secure it in place.

"Ah… On second thought," said Artie, "tell me, Mr Madison, does the Smithsonian have a vault?"

"Why, of course it does, Mr Gordon."

"Good! Then take my advice, young man, and instead of leaving the Phoenix in here overnight, you store it in the vault this instant and keep it there until you've added at least three more layers of security to this room. And on third thought," he amended with barely a pause, "it would be better to keep it in the vault every night anyway, even after you beef up security. Is that clear?"

"Clear, sir, yes!"

"Fine, fine. Let's get it down to the vault right away before something else happens, and Jim and I have to go chasing all over Washington City yet again to recover that pretty little troublemaker!"


	16. Act Four, Part Three

**Act Four, Part Three**

As soon as possible, having accompanied Mr Madison down to the vault and then left Dr Ames' jacket and glasses with the young secretary, Artie rushed back to the cabinet in the hall and rapped out _Shave and a Haircut_ on the lacquered door. "Jim?" he hissed.

"Right here, Artie. The coast is clear?"

"Clear enough. I think Madison and the night watchman are the last ones here, and they'll be locking up once we leave. But what happened? I thought sure I'd given you enough time, James!"

"What happened was this," said Jim, and shoved the door wide open.

Ah! For folded up in the corner of the cabinet alongside Jim was a familiar petite figure in somebody's Sunday best suit, eyes closed, sweetly sleeping. "So, the _other_ pretty little troublemaker showed up again!"

Jim, having just stepped from the cabinet, paused in the act of picking up the girl to cock an eyebrow at Artie. "Other?"

"Well, as opposed to the Florentine Phoenix itself." Artie held the door while Jim collected the unconscious Ecstasy La Joie. "What happened?" he asked as he closed the door and followed Jim along the hallway.

"I got as far as the display room and was just about to open the case to make the substitution, when I heard a sound behind me."

"And there she was?"

Jim nodded. "I might mention that she's particularly unhappy with you, Artemus."

"Oh. Ah… is she?" Artie thumped the underside of his nose with a forefinger.

"Yes, she discovered that she no longer had the Phoenix and made a pretty shrewd guess why." The two men with their sleeping companion strolled out of the Smithsonian and down the front walk.

"She didn't give you a hard time, I hope," said Artie.

"Not so much of it, no. Well, she tried to scratch me with that knock-out ring of hers; I guess she forgot she'd used it on me before."

"Yeah, forewarned is forearmed," Artie interjected.

"Right. On the other hand, I suppose she didn't remember about me using a pressure point on her before."

"Ah." Artie nodded.

"So then I needed to hide her until the Bosnians were gone, but I had no sooner tucked her into that cabinet when I heard everyone coming…"

"So you ducked inside with her as well? Perfectly logical!"

They were now nearly down to the street and needed to rearrange themselves in order to hail a cab. Jim swung the girl out of his arms and held her up in a reasonable approximation of standing on her feet, while Artie slipped an arm around her as well to give the impression of two buddies helping a tipsy third.

Even so, several cabs passed them by before one driver decided to stop. "Somebody's feeling no pain!" the cabbie commented, watching his sober passengers hoist their pixilated friend into the seat. "So where to?" he added once all three were aboard.

"Hey, that's a good question," Artie murmured to Jim. "Where are we taking her?"

"I had in mind turning her over to Col Richmond at the Secret Service offices, but…" and Jim consulted his pocket watch, "…I suspect it's a bit late for that tonight."

"Mm," Artie agreed. "Rolling cell then?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah, we can put her up for the night in the rolling cell in the baggage car of the train, then hand her over in the morning." Leaning out to speak to the cabbie, he directed the man to take them to the railroad yards.

"By the way," said Artie as their cab rolled along toward their destination, "there's something else we need to figure out what to do with: this." He reached in the pocket of his dark green tunic and produced the small black pouch again.

"Prof Montague's fake Phoenix?" said Jim.

"Well, I certainly hope so! Zorana and the ambassador wound up the one I had palmed and put into the case, and once they made sure it was the genuine item, I was careful not to touch it after that — so this better be the fake!"

"We can check this one once we have Sleeping Beauty tucked into her bed," said Jim. "And after it does its little music box rendition, well…" He ruminated briefly, then grinned. "All right: subject to the approval of Col Richmond, of course — if not the president as well — I suppose we might just return it to its creator."

"Me? I don't want it!" Artie protested.

"Not you!" said Jim. "You were just the second fiddle. I mean the man who conceived of this little substitute and did the bulk of the job fabricating it."

"Oh, Prof Montague! Hey, you sure he's gonna want a souvenir of that case though?"

Jim shrugged. "He might. One of his rare excursions into field work."

"True. But also his real-life encounter with the Honey Trap!" Artie nodded at the girl sleeping between them.

Jim grinned. "Well," he said, "won't hurt to ask, will it?"

Artie chuckled. "Yeah. He can always say, 'No'!"

…

It was full dark by the time their carriage drew up at the railroad yards. Jim hauled out the unconscious girl while Artie paid the cabbie. No sooner had the carriage rolled off when Artie slapped himself in the forehead. "Great jumping balls of St Elmo's Fire, James! We forgot about little Mr Memphis. Shouldn't we go back and arrest him too?"

"Him?" Jim swung the girl up in his arms and deliberated briefly as they walked towards the Wanderer, but finally shook his head. "I don't think so, Artie. Bartholomew Memphis is definitely small potatoes compared to…" He trailed off.

"Hmm? Compared to what, Jim?"

Ignoring the question, Jim instead pointed with his chin at their train. "Artie, look."

Artie looked. "Uh-oh."

"Yeah. Trouble," said Jim.

"Right. The light at the end of the car; it isn't lit. It should be. It's a signal. Orrin Cobb's trying to tell us something."

"Then let's go find out what our engineer wants us to know."

…

"See anything of 'em yet, Kelly?"

"No sir, Mr Cobb," the fireman replied.

"Great," muttered Orrin Cobb. "Last thing I want is for Mr West and Mr Gordon to walk into a trap!"

"What sort of trap?" came a voice out of the darkness.

Startled, both Cobb and Kelly peered down out of the cab and spotted the shapes of two men — albeit one of them curiously deformed. Still, the voice had been familiar. "Mr West?" Orrin ventured. He held up a lantern to have a better look, then smiled. "Oh, good! You're here. Who's the kid though?"

"The thief we've been chasing all day," Artie replied briefly. "But what's going on? We saw your signal."

Orrin nodded toward the far end of the train. "Not long after sundown, me and Kelly spotted some folks sneakin' into the varnish car. Musta been — how many you think, Kelly?"

"Half a dozen, at least. Dark colored clothes, mighta been uniforms. Had on them funny hats with no brims."

Artie glanced at Jim. "Shakos, maybe?"

Kelly nodded. "Could be, yeah."

"Went into the varnish car, did they?" inquired Jim. "But what about the baggage car?"

Both engineer and fireman shook their heads. "Couldn't tell," said Orrin. "After all, once you're on the varnish car, you can cross over into the baggage car without us in the engine bein' able to see you do it."

"True, true," said Artie. "Whaddaya think, Jim?"

"I think we still need to put Miss La Joie in the rolling cell first. But first before that, we need to secure the baggage car. Orrin?"

"Yes, Mr West?"

"Here. You and Kelly watch over our prisoner for a bit. Mr Gordon and I will be right back for her." Jim stepped aboard the cab and shifted the still-sleeping girl into the arms of the astonished engineer.

"A girl?" said Orrin. "This is a girl?"

"Yep," said Artie. "And you be real careful with her too: she's got the kick of a mule!" Both he and Jim drew their guns and slipped off into the darkness.

…

They chose the end of the baggage car next to the tender, it being farthest from the infiltrated varnish car, and mounted the steps as quietly as possible. Jim took the knob side of the door, Artie the hinge side. Both leaned back well away from the door as Jim slowly turned the knob, then shoved the door wide open.

 _Crash!_ The door hit the inner wall and bounced off. Instantly the two agents leapt inside, guns at the ready.

No one. The baggage car was completely void of anyone but themselves. Artie gave a _whew!_ of relief and holstered his gun.

Jim nodded. "All right. You go get Ecstasy. I'm heading on to the varnish car."

"Without me?"

Jim quirked a half-smile at his partner. "Don't I always?"

" _Yes!"_ Artie glared, then amended it to, "Ok, ok, maybe not exactly _always_ , but certainly all too often!"

"Yeah, but it won't take you long to pop Ecstasy into the rolling cell."

"By which time you may well be in over your head, Jim!"

"Uh-huh. But then you'll show up and pull my fat out of the fire. Right?"

Artie sighed. "What happens if one of these days I can't?"

"Aw, I trust you, Artie. You're a one-man cavalry troop! Now go on and get the girl; I'll get started without you." Jim headed across the baggage car while Artie, with an exasperated shake of his head, set off back to the engine to pick up their prisoner.

…

Jim slipped silently down the corridor of the varnish car, quietly checking his stateroom and then Artie's as he came to them, and after that the small lab as well. Nobody so far. No doubt they were all in the parlor.

He checked the galley as well, then paused as he reached the swinging door into the parlor itself and sniffed the air. Oh yes, someone was in the parlor, all right! Quietly Jim nudged the door open and slipped through, gun at the ready.

The cigarette smoke he'd smelled in the corridor was plainly visible here; a coil of it was making its lazy way up toward the ceiling. The source of the smoke, a man attired in a fuzzy black shako and a deep-green uniform, sat upon one of the sofas, his back to the door through which Jim had just entered. Jim could see the cigarette in the man's hand as he lifted it, holding it in the reversed European fashion, and took a long slow drag.

Jim's lips tightened and he drew back the hammer of his revolver.

At the distinct _ka-click_ of the gun being cocked, the smoker rose calmly to his feet and turned, a sardonic smile upon his face within his well-kempt goatee. He took another puff from his cigarette, blew out the smoke, and intoned, "Ah, _Herr_ West, you are here at last! You had forgotten, perhaps, our appointment?"

"What appointment might that be, _Herr_ Vogel?" said Jim, intending to keep the man talking until Artie could arrive.

"Why, the one I made with you in my office this afternoon! Do you not remember? You were to bring _Fräulein_ La Joie back here to your train, I would meet you here, and together we would wring the precious Phoenix out of the hands of that, and I quote, 'delectable little lady.' I am crushed, _Herr_ West, that you have forgotten! By the way, where is the, ah, delectable little lady, hmm?"

"Not here," said Jim. "And neither is the Phoenix. Now you just take your men and leave now, and we'll say nothing more about your little crime of trespassing on my train." Jim leveled his gun at Vogel.

At the same moment, he felt the muzzle of a gun press against the side of his head just behind his right ear and heard the sound of it cocking.

The corners of Vogel's eyes crinkled fiendishly. "Oh, but the evening is still _young!_ And we have so much to say yet about your own little crime of trespassing at our embassy! Schwimmer, his gun."

The man who had been hiding by the cupboard alongside the swinging door wrested the revolver out of Jim's hand, then gave him a shove to send the agent sprawling on the floor in the middle of the parlor. Jim sprang up again immediately.

And now the rest of Vogel's men stepped out of hiding. Jim's eyes swept over them all, noting the positions of a big blond near the fireplace, a burly black-haired guy with heavy five-o'clock shadow by the rear door, another blond appearing from beyond the desk, a tall redhead with popping blue eyes — a redheaded German? — behind the second sofa, and a scrawny balding fellow flanking Schwimmer.

For that matter, Jim noted that Schwimmer, having tucked the confiscated revolver through his wide black leather belt, had also holstered his own weapon and was now pounding one fist into the opposite palm, smirking with anticipation of what was shortly to come.

Oh, so it was going to be that kind of fight, was it? Jim turned his attention back to _Herr_ Vogel, smiled broadly...

Then whirled and pasted the big blond by the fireplace right in the solar plexus.


	17. Act Four, Part Four

**Act Four, Part Four**

Artie laid the somnolent girl gently on the small cot in the rolling cell, spread a blanket over her, then stepped out and locked her in. He crossed over quietly to the varnish car and stood in the corridor listening for a moment. He could hear _Herr_ Vogel's suave accents, though not what he was saying.

"Well," he murmured to himself, "as long as he's still talking and the fighting hasn't begun yet, I might have just enough time to set foot in my stateroom and come up with a little monkey wrench to throw into the proceedings… Or — oops! Sounds like the fight's started now. One little monkey wrench, coming up fast!" He ducked into his stateroom.

…

In the varnish car it didn't take long for the fight to be in full swing. Jim clobbered the redhead, sending him toppling into and over one of the sofas, overturning it in the process. As _Herr_ Vogel stepped casually to one side and took a puff of his cigarette, the black-haired minion grabbed Jim from behind, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing for all he was worth.

Jim doubled over, yanking the minion off his feet and dumping him headfirst onto the carpet. One of the blonds barreled into Jim next. They hit the floor rolling, each of them slugging the other as hard as he could, each striving to come out on top.

The other blond, having at last remembered how to breathe again, jumped into the fray, as did Schwimmer and the scrawny fellow. Vogel puffed on his cigarette, smiling as _Herr_ West disappeared under a sea of green uniforms.

And then Jim surged up from under them, scattering the men in all directions. The redhead waded back into action now, wielding the large ornate silver barometer which he'd plucked off the wall by the swinging door. He took a cut at Jim's head with it.

Jim ducked under the swing, and as long as he was down there, he scooped a hand around the back of his opponent's leg and pulled. With an " _Oof!"_ the redhead went tumbling to measure his length on the floor once more.

At this point, Five-O'clock-Shadow was ready for his second round. He snatched up the longhorn-backed chair from behind the desk and rushed at Jim to clobber him with it. At the same time from the opposite direction, Scrawny charged Jim, arms spread out to tackle him.

Jim faced the smaller guy, his own arms wide. Just at the last second, Jim sidestepped and seized Scrawny by one arm, sending him whirling into Five-O'clock. The black-haired man reeled backwards, chair still held high, to crash right through the varnish car's rear door and over the railing beyond it, landing with a crunch of ballast on the railroad tracks somewhere out in the night.

Jim spun back to face the rest of the minions, taking note of the glower of simmering rage on _Herr_ Vogel's face. "Things not going the way you'd planned, Mr Bird?" quipped Jim.

Through gritted teeth Vogel hissed out a volley of rapid-fire German. His henchmen barked out, " _Jawohl, mein Herr!_ " accompanied by the clicking of many heels. The next sound Jim heard was the clicking of many revolvers as each of Vogel's remaining men drew and cocked his gun — in Schwimmer's case, both his own and Jim's. And as Jim looked down the barrels of such a collection of weapons, he couldn't help thinking that this would be a great time for Artie to finally show up.

With impeccable timing, a tall and faultlessly erect figure now strode through the swinging door from the corridor. His head held high, his scowling face clean-shaven save for immense sideburns, his imposing frame clad in a dark green tunic and topped by a fuzzy black shako, the newcomer glared at the scene before him and barked out in clipped Germanic tones, " _Was ist los?_ Vogel, can you not accomplish even the simplest of assignments that I confer upon you? What is going on here?"

" _Herr Baron!"_ Everyone except for Jim snapped to attention at the unexpected sight. Hinterstoisser, here? He strode among them, his hands folded behind his back as he looked each man up and down with dissatisfaction, slowly making his stately way towards Vogel.

The imperious inspection took the baron within inches of James West, who was not at all surprised to hear his partner's voice whisper to him from the corner of the supposed baron's mouth, "James my boy, be ready."

Jim gave the barest of nods as Artie moved on to run his sneer of disapprobation over the redhead. He then stepped up to Vogel and gave him the same cold glare he had bestowed on the rest.

" _Ach_ , Vogel!" said Artie. He shook his head, _tsking_ at the chief spy. "What a mess you have made of your duties this day, hmm? Even now you have not fulfilled the task I have laid upon you, _nicht wahr?_ Tell me, _Herr_ Vogel, what was it that I sent you forth to do?"

Artie was inwardly gratified to see how stiffly Vogel held himself at attention before his boss' disapproval. " _Mein Baron_ ," he replied, his eyes fixed on a point just above Artie's right shoulder, "I was to redeem myself by finding _Fräulein_ La Joie at once and retrieving the Phoenix from her."

" _Ja?_ And have you done so? For," and here he gestured at the room all about them, using a hand with something small palmed within it, "I see nothing of that charming young lady here, nor do I see any sign of the Phoe…"

Talk about speaking too soon — or perhaps of speaking of the devil! For at that moment the swinging door slapped open and what might have passed for a whirling dervish in a young man's best Sunday suit blasted into the parlor. Before anyone, friend or foe, could quite process what was happening, Ecstasy had kicked three guns from as many hands, then flung some sort of bright blue glop into the faces of the unkicked henchmen.

"Hey, you stole that from my lab!" cried Artie. After a split second's hesitation, he tossed down the item he'd been palming.

Chaos ensued. Between Artie's smoke bomb pouring forth thick vermilion haze, Jim's fists slamming into startled minions, and Ecstasy's flying feet, Vogel and his men stood very little chance.

But then, neither did Artie. From out of the manmade fog came Miss La Joie's toe, catching him right on the chin and flooring him. A second later…

"Ow! My ear!"

Suddenly Ecstasy was bending over him. "I would apologize to you, Mr Gordon — and if you hadn't yelled out about the blue stuff from the lab, I never would have realized you weren't Baron Hinterstoisser! But after the way you picked my pocket when you put me into the dumbwaiter — well, I'm not sorry a bit for giving you an ear that matches _Herr_ Vogel's. Aha!" Her light-fingered hands, after making a swift search of his pockets, came up with a small black pouch. Smiling sweetly, she patted him on the cheek, then sprang to her feet and with a cry of " _Guten Abend, meine Herren!"_ she vanished into the fog.

"Ow…" Artie complained again, touching a spot on his cheek that felt like it had just been stung by a bee. Then all went from vermilion to black.

 **End of Act Four**


	18. Tag

**Tag**

Artie groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, wincing as he touched the sting mark on his cheek. "Oh, my aching head!" he grumbled.

"What happened to forewarned is forearmed?" said Jim. "Here, drink this."

"Huh?" Artie looked up to find that he was lying on one of the sofas in the parlor. He accepted the glass Jim was holding out to him and automatically took a sip. "Yuck! This is plain water!"

"Yeah?" said Jim, pulling a chair over to have a seat. "Sure it's water. What did you expect?"

"After the day we've just had? Something a bit more potent — not to mention conciliatory — than Adam's ale, let me tell you!"

"Believe me, Artie, after the little concoction on Ecstasy's ring that she knocked you out with, you do _not_ want anything stronger than milk for the next few hours!"

"Really?" said Artie dubiously.

"Really," Jim replied emphatically. "Voice of experience."

"Oh." Artie regarded his glass of water skeptically. Then, with the air of a martyr, he drained it dry. "Yum, yum," he said glumly.

"Cheer up, buddy," said Jim. "In consideration for the headache you're going to have for a while yet, I'm going to let you lay there on the sofa and watch while I do the cleaning up from the, uh… party."

"Party?" A bit befuddled, Artie sat up — wished he hadn't — and took a look around.

The interior of the varnish car was a mess! The other sofa, along with most of the rest of the furniture, was still tipped over, the carpet was awry, various knickknacks including the silver barometer were strewn everywhere. And of course, the rear door was smashed to bits while the longhorn-backed chair was completely missing.

"Oh, _that_ party!" said Artie. "Say, you suppose if Hinterstoisser saw all this, he'd say we were even?"

"We're even a bit ahead," said Jim, and nodded towards a small armory piled in the corner which was composed of over a half dozen revolvers.

Artie blinked. "They left those?"

Jim smirked and shrugged. "They were in something of a hurry to make their exit by that time. Didn't even bother to say Good-bye." Jim righted a few chairs, then added, "Especially the blue men. What was that stuff, anyway?"

"A new chemical leech I've been working on. It's, um… well, it's not exactly intended to be applied to the skin, let's just say."

"Ah." Jim went back to work, and Artie lay back down.

"So… where's Ecstasy?" Artie asked after a while.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Jim replied. "I thought you had locked her in the rolling cell though."

"I thought I had too," muttered Artie.

Jim set the sofa upright and straightened the cushions. "She certainly got loose somehow," he said, his back to his partner. "Didn't you search her?"

No answer.

Jim glanced around, his eyebrows arching. "Artie?"

"Uh… well…" Artie rubbed at the back of his neck, his face slowly turning crimson. "Not carefully enough, apparently." Then to himself he muttered, "And wherever she was hiding whatever it was she used to pick that lock with, I don't wanna even _think!"_

Jim finished setting the furniture to rights, then locked up the extra guns and put his own away. He surveyed the room for a bit, then crossed to pour himself a drink. "The rest can keep till tomorrow, I think. Have some more water?"

Artie shuddered. "Aw, Jim, you're too good to me!"

Jim grinned and refreshed Artie's glass, then relaxed into a chair. "You know what, Artie?"

"What?"

"We never should have let that girl off after breaking up the Assassin's Club."

"I hear that!"

Jim savored his drink for a bit before adding, "Pity though…"

"What?"

"That you chose to disguise yourself as Baron Hinterstoisser this time instead of Vogel."

Artie sat up and stared at him. "Huh? But I'd already done the two-Vogels-in-the-same-room deal earlier. No one would have fallen for that this time around. I _had_ to be the baron!"

"Oh, I'm not faulting you for that, Artie. Of course you had to be the baron. It's just that…" and he winked at his partner over the edge of his glass as he took another sip of his drink, "if you had been Vogel again, you see, once Ecstasy was done bloodying your ear, you'd have made a perfect double for him!" He grinned.

Artie emphatically didn't. "Oh ha ha ha, James, very funny indeed. But what's even more annoying than that is the fact that I'd gotten out of the Vogel disguise and into another, and that leggy little lady _still_ got a big kick out of pummeling me!" He scowled, fuming.

Jim's grin got even bigger. "She did at that, didn't she?"

"Hmm? Did what?"

"Got a big kick out of pummeling you."

For a long second Artie just stared at him, then he groaned and smacked his hand over his face. "Oh… no… Oh, I cannot believe I just said that!"

"Well, it wasn't one of your better puns — not by a long shot." Jim shrugged and sipped his drink.

"Not one of my better…! Jim, even by _my_ standards, that pun was a dog!"

Jim cocked an eyebrow his way. "You've got standards?"

"As a matter of fact, I do! Now, granted, they are monumentally low…"

Jim chuckled. "So I've noticed!"

Ignoring him, Artie finished with, "…but that last pun was hitting rock-bottom, even for me!"

Jim stood up, stretched, and patted Artie on the shoulder. "Oh, don't worry about it, buddy. I'm sure one of these days you'll come out with a pun that's even worse."

"Aw, thanks, Jim! You're such a comfort!"

"Any time, Artie, any time." With a glance towards the missing door, he added, "Hope you enjoy the night air. _Guten Abend!"_ And with a smile and a wave, Jim headed off to bed.

 **FIN**

 _Final note: It was during the writing of this story that the news broke of the passing of the lovely and talented Miss Yvonne Craig. To the actress who brought us Batgirl, Ecstasy La Joie, and the girl who wanted "the three-dollar tour of Hipville," this tale is fondly dedicated._


End file.
